Parasitic
by Wood.White
Summary: Dr. Evelyn March is many things to different people: to some, she is an exceptional but cold-hearted physician; to others, she's an unpleasant woman with an unapproachable personality. To the Life Foundation, she becomes an excellent addition to their project. And to an extraterrestrial parasite, she becomes its valuable means to survive.
1. Chapter 1 - The Doctor

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom.**

_**So, here again with another story. This one will primarily be from the perspective of a doctor; an oncologist to be precise. However, I am no major in medicine and I am no doctor myself, so the intel you will find in this story comes from information I have looked thoroughly for on the internet. Apologies in advance if something is inaccurate or wrong.**_

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**Chapter 1: The Doctor**

* * *

She was a proficient physician; that much could not be denied, even as much as her colleagues despised her. One of the best doctors the general hospital of San Francisco could offer, but only in terms of medical expertise and overall performance. Emotional support or consolation could not be categorized as one of her strongest suits, much less an existant one.

However, that did not make it any less of a predicament for her whenever she had to tell the family members of a patient that death would be the inevitable outcome of their loved one's condition, no matter what they had done to try to prevent it from occurring. Crying and signs of denial was a common reaction for her to become the witness of, if not occasional acts of violence or threats as well, but that did not change the circumstances.

The patient in question this time was nineteen-year-old Amanda Sawyer; one of the state's top swimmers and loved for her excellent performance and achievements; going national if not for the tumor that had been growing in her brain for the past couple of years.

The tumor has already spread to her central nervous system and to her cerebellum. Even if she was to somehow survive, the damages her body suffered might have rendered her permanently incapable of functioning properly. Any further exposure to radiation would be too dangerous to attempt.

And as such, she told the mother the news in the hallway; notepad in her hand showing the results of the diagnostics they had run that morning on the patient. As anticipated, the mother did not handle the news very well, and burst into tears in the middle of the corridor with her husband trying his best to comfort her despite his own evident torment.

Rather than to share their pain and offer them her sympathies with tear-filled eyes, the Doctor only stood there with an expressionless countenance, watching the couple as they expressed their unbearable grief in unison. What little she could offer them, however, was the knowledge that their daughter's death would not be a painful one.

Such was the life of Dr. Evelyn March, the doctor everybody knew to hate and respect with mutual contempt. Excellent and skilled within the required field yet underdeveloped in the field that most people demanded of her as a caregiver for the unfortunate.

But the world was no playground.

Its inhabitants were not children.

Therefore, it was not required of her to play the role of the doting parent.

Her job was to keep people from dying through whatever meant necessary.

* * *

The cream swirled in the black substance as she poured it into the cup. Personally, she was not particularly fond of the sweetness, but the sugar tended to increase her energy a little further than just the caffeine alone did. It was beneficial, as much as she loathed the flavor.

"Ah, Dr. March. Good day."

That voice was recognizable from even a mile or two away, though she preferred it if it was the latter. Dr. Lewis's voice snapped her out of her fog of thoughts as he entered proximity, approaching her from his office further down the hall. Under ordinary circumstances, Dr. March would have been less than enthusiastic about entering a verbal conversation with one of her colleagues.

However, she respected Dr. Lewis in particular. Though he was more of a people-person than she could ever claim to be, he showed far more competence within the field of medicine than half of the rest of her colleagues did. He had been her senior during the time she attended John Hopkins' University, so that added up to her favoritism towards him.

"Dr. Lewis," she greeted him in a neutral tone, though not with hostile intent.

As he reached up to her, the first thing he did was to pat her on the shoulder. "Must we always be so formal, Evelyn? How many times must I tell you that Dan will do?"

"If you say so, Dr. Lewis."

He sighed and remained disgruntled with her apathy, though not without giving her a reassuring smile. "You're not making it better. Anyways, shift's almost over and I'm going out for the evening. You should do the same sometimes. You're always working your head off."

"Only to keep someone else's head intact, mind you." she retorted and took a sip from her drink, allowing the bitterness to captivate her taste buds. The sweetness stood inferior to the acidity to the flavor, fortunately for her, but that didn't mean she couldn't detect the overly sweet aftertaste she so despised.

"Double cream today?" Dr. Lewis took note of her drink, much to her dismay, and offered her a rather sympathetic look; something she seldom received – and never solicited – from others. "Long day?"

"Nothing I won't be able to get through, again." She answered curtly, not sparing a single moment on lingering on the prospect of a good day.

"What happened?"

"Anaplastic astrocytoma; grade three astrocytoma. Spread to the rest of her brain and the cerebellum and affected the patient's nervous system as well. Her parents insisted on the use of radiation therapy shortly after it was revealed that the surgery failed to remove the tumor entirely. I warned them of the risk, but they insisted. Chemotherapy was the last option, but the patient grew tired of the medication. Already by then, the diagnostics showed less than pleasant results."

"It wasn't your fault, Evelyn. Don't blame yourself."

Like always, Dr. Lewis was the first one to offer his condolences. The way he was able to empathize with others and offer his compassion to them, she _almost_ envied him for it. Perhaps it would have made her days easier if she properly understood the pain some people underwent during situations such as these.

Even so, compassion did not warrant success in most cases. Only efficiency did, and if she did anything less than that, then she was a disgrace to the occupation she had spent years of her youth aiming to achieve. Countless nights spent up studying instead of sleeping, countless months spent working instead of friends and associates; she had discarded her bodily needs in order to obtain the goal she had set back when she was a child.

But she wasn't a child. Not anymore. She had not been one for a very long time.

"I'm a doctor, and as such, it's my responsibility to take care of my patients. Failing to do so does not say a lot about my competence,"

He shook his head, evidently distressed. "You can't save them all, even as much as you try. We're only human. We have boundaries."

She spared him a cold look to the side, successfully shutting him up just as he was about to open his mouth and add something else to his statement.

"Then I will continue to work and make progress until these boundaries are no more. Whatever it takes."

Everybody knew that it was foolishness to go against one's own nature, as well as to question it. She knew so as well that what she was saying could not be achieved, not yet, but that did not mean she would not be willing to do anything achieve it.

However, Dr. Lewes must have thought her to be joking when she said it, because he began to laugh a delighted – genuine – laugh. It was not an uncommon occurrence for him to smile; in a place filled with blood and death on a daily, he always somehow managed to find a light to exploit, something to help ease the tension that more than often rendered the rest in despair.

Perhaps that was the reason behind why Ms. Weying found herself swayed with him. Eddie Brock, that failed imbecile of a journalist who had not only managed to bring himself to ruin but also her, was doubtfully one she wished to return to if she had any wits about her.

She was fortunate that she found someone like Dr. Lewis; someone whose smile was enough to brighten the darkest of days.

And as such, Dr. March found herself smiling as well, despite herself. It wasn't exactly noticeable, hardly earning the designation "a smile", but it was there nonetheless. Somehow, Dr. Lewis must have seen it, for his own smile turned wider and he let out another laugh, genuinely surprised to see the stoic colleague reveal some sense of humor.

But then he glanced down at his watch, his smile fading slightly as he realized how late it was. "Well, I'd better return home now. I promised Anne I would take us out today to celebrate our anniversary."

"Yes, I take it you must celebrate every month you have spent together." Despite her cynic words, there were no ill intentions as Dr. March spoke. "How long has it been now?"

"Six months."

"You have my congratulations."

He inclined his head towards her. "Thank you."

For someone to thank her was – in fact – an uncommon occurrence. Whether it was dissatisfied patients or obnoxious colleagues, gratitude was not something that was easily granted – nor solicited. Even hearing those words aimed at her made her feel slightly strange.

But no matter, she shook her head and took another sip from the cup in her hand, feeling the warmth beneath her fingertips. "No matter, my shift isn't finished until nine o'clock, so I wouldn't waste any time here if I were you."

"That late?" His eyes widened a few inches, but he didn't question it further. It was preferable that he didn't.

Dr. March nodded in affirmation. "Yes. I have work to finish before I call it for the evening."

"You're always working so much. It wouldn't kill you to take some time off once in a while, you know?"

She narrowed her eyes at him with heavy scrutiny. "It might just kill someone else."

* * *

"Mrs. Nora Woods in room 54D requires a change of IV fluid; Mr. James Denborough in room 36C has just undergone to a gastric bypass and may be given Opioids should the pain not disappear over the next few hours. Should you have any question about the accurate amount required for that, you may ask Dr. Renfield."

"Understood, Dr. March."

The young nurse, despite having started working there at the general hospital for less than a month, showed a prominent skill in regard to precision and time. She followed her orders to the letter and rarely made mistakes; but few were inevitable, which was only anticipated.

Dr. March cast a solemn glance at the clock hanging on the wall, imagining that it would soon be time for her to call it an evening. It was already fifteen-past-nine, so it was already appropriate for her to end her shift. Quite frankly, merely standing there in that empty hallway, listening to the silence and occasional coughing coming from one of the rooms nearby, granted her a sense of quietness she seldom got to experience.

One she seldom had the liberty to enjoy.

Until that quiet was abruptly interrupted and she was snatched out of her enjoyment by a voice she could not recognize, but by a man she did not deem a staff member or a patient.

"Dr. Evelyn March?"

She shifted her head to the side and made sure that no facial trait made itself visible to the external perspective. That task alone was no a challenging one, seeing it as she was far too accustomed with performing it to find it difficult.

Approaching her from the left hallway arrived a man, but one that did not seem like he belonged in a place filled with death and illness unless he was a patient. His hair was dark and held up quite extravagantly with what appeared to be some kind of expensive hair-gel like he was supposed to enter a vital meeting whilst looking his best for the occasion. She could smell its scent from a mile away.

His face contained few wrinkles but the visible growth of a beard _(late thirties? early forties?)_

His clothing didn't strike her as particularly common either; black suit, three-piece, alabaster-colored shirt, and an overall prominent stature _(Surgeon? Professor? Bureaucrat?). _Height was approximately five feet and seven inches. Weight? One-hundred and forty pounds. A dark bag hung over his shoulder, looking as though it contained something significant.

"May I help you, Sir?" she asked, making sure to keep all traces of her suspicion out of her tone.

The man inclined his head towards her and displayed a smile; the kind you would expect a gentleman whose intentions was to sway an entire courtroom to have. "Charles Marley, Chief Operating Officer of the Life Foundation."

The Life Foundation? Her eyes narrowed as she heard this, but with no less distrust than earlier. He was dressed the part, that was for certain.

She inclined her head to him in return. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Marley. What could someone from one of the most prominent corporations in all of the state of California want?

His smile remained unwavering, yet it was the way he constantly kept tugging on his back which caught her attention.

"I come on the behalf of Mr. Carlton Drake with a proposal." He glanced around the vacant area of the hospital they were standing in, but he seemed somehow discontent with it. As he turned back to her, he tilted his head towards the way to the exit. "May we find somewhere more private to speak?"


	2. Chapter 2 - The Project

**Disclaimer: I do now own Venom**

**Updated: 03.10.19**

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**Chapter 2: The Project**

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The Life Foundation. One of the most prominent and successful corporations in the world, founded by Carlton Drake in 1989, ironically the same year she was born. As a child, Evelyn marveled the idea of one day joining them and contribute to the world. Her idealistic mindset could not properly comprehend the challenges and difficulties that would undoubtedly stand between her and her lifelong dream to help people.

But as Evelyn grew older, she discarded that idealistic mentality along with the prospect of working for the Life Foundation. Her respect for them and their ambitions lingered to the present day, especially considering Mr. Drake's genius and achievements regarding humanity's cancerous state, but that did not contribute to making her want to work for them any more than it did at a general hospital.

No, she already had a tenure position at San Francisco's general hospital; she was regarded as one of their top members, and she was not willing to give that up for an uncertain future within a company she knew little about what happened on the inside of. All she knew for certain was that they remained on the top of the industrial hierarchy of San Francisco, and they would remain there for the time being without any significant external help.

That was the reason behind her curiosity. What did they suddenly want with her?

COO Marley stepped further towards her, countenance written with composure, which meant that he was there on business that did not require severe security to escort him. That was another thing that perplexed her further. Why would such an esteemed member of one of San Francisco's top companies come to the general hospital unattended and exposed?

He seemed slightly appalled by her lack of affirmation towards his request. "Dr. Evelyn March; M.D, Ph.D., Medical Oncologist, graduated John Hopkins University in Baltimore, Maryland previously under the tutorship of Dr. Janine Skirth." His eyes met hers with an analytical glimmer. "Is that correct or have I been given the wrong intel?"

Unimpressed by his display of personal knowledge regarding her, Evelyn merely dipped her head towards him and keeps her facial features at a minimum. "No, you are not mistaken, Mr. Marley. I am merely surprised by this sudden visit."

He chuckled. "It would have been more appropriate to give you a call, but Mr. Drake deemed it more fitting to meet in person."

"But you are not Mr. Drake, Mr. Marley." She retorted, tilting her head slightly to the side. "Is that correct or have I been given the wrong intel?"

He laughed as she repeated his words, "No, you are not mistaken, Doctor. But Mr. Drake was, unfortunately, unavailable and could hence not have the pleasure of meeting you in person. Instead, he sent me on his behalf to retrieve you."

"Retrieve me?" She turned her head upwards, facing the clock with a neutral expression on her face. It was already late and as much she would prefer to get home, this particular meeting seemed like it required her attention more than her bed did. She was no foreigner towards abandoning sleep for the sake of work, but for the sake of conversing with someone was an uncommon occurrence.

"It would be more appropriate to speak of this somewhere else." Mr. Marley was evidently not a patient man, as he kept looking around the area as though he was expecting someone to keep an ear their way. "With your permission, allow me to escort you to the company's headquarters so that you may speak with the CEO himself. He could possibly explain the situation with better terms than I could."

"You just said that he was occupied at the moment," Her eyes narrowed as she spoke. It was not uncommon for her to do so towards people whose intentions she found ambiguous, and this was no exception either.

Mr. Marley seemed to catch onto her suspicion and quickly raised his hands in submission. "Mr. Drake made it clear that he would meet you personally if you agreed to come to the base. You will have all the information you need and any questions you have will be answered as well."

Evelyn put one of her hands inside the pocket of her lab coat whereas the other one rested against her hip. Though her countenance revealed no exterior emotion that would've been easy to distinguish, there were questions swirling in her head that demanded answers. Any other person would have been exhilarated to be able to meet the founder of the Life Foundation in person, and at one point in her life, she would have been so too.

But this particular incident warranted more inquiries than it did exhilaration. What could be so vital that it had to be conveyed secretly and not openly? Classified information was not something she did not have to contain on a daily, but this was a different scenario. Patient confidentiality differed from the sort of information the CEO would convey.

She stood in place for a couple of seconds, eyes continuously staring at the COO for what felt like longer than such a short amount of time. The way she stared at him resembled the way a physician would look at a disagreeing or otherwise troublesome patient; emotionlessly, collected, self-controlled.

"What if I refuse?" she asked, blinking for the first time in a long one. "What if I find out that your proposition is of no interest to me?"

Mr. Marley's interest did not seem to falter at her ambiguous statement. Instead of displaying some kind of negative reaction towards her blunt reluctance, he merely shrugged indifferently. "Nothing. You will be returned to your estate. We are not a violent company, Dr. March. We only wish to speak. Surely you can grant us such a short amount of your time?"

"A doctor's schedule is a terribly busy one, I'm afraid." She looked at the clock again, taking note of how the pointers hardly seemed to move. In hindsight, she was unbearably tired, more so than usual, but there was something about doing everything but sleeping that made it seem like she was being more productive. Surely staying awake for a couple of more hours would not do her any harm?

Her eyes trailed back to the COO, and she nodded after a couple of seconds of contemplation. "I would hate to keep someone as sophisticated as Mr. Drake waiting."

Upon hearing her answer, Mr. Marley's smiled grew wider, though his eyes grew thinner. "Excellent."

* * *

The car-ride was a silent one, as she preferred it to be. Trivial chatter and conversations had a tendency to annoy her more than entertain her, although it solely depended on the subject at hand. There were many topics a COO could converse with her about, but few that would have been relevant to her unless they regarded this 'project' of theirs or her supposed role in it.

And thus she sat there, embraced by silence and enjoying every moment of it. The car was a large one, fancy, and well-equipped for what seemed like a majority of situations: defense or offense. For whatever reason, she assumed the latter. It did make sense, especially seeing it as how infiltrating the company could grand a person a lot of benefits. Security was therefore heavily required, no doubt.

They drove over the bridge, and Evelyn could hear the rain begin to pour from the skies as they went their way. Soft glow from lampposts flickered on interval from outside the car, as did the sound of passing vehicles and people. Even though she had lived in the city for several years now, she was still not used to the sounds it produced on a daily. A side-effect from growing up on the country-side, no doubt.

"Yes, she's here. I will bring her to your office."

She flickered her eyes away from the window to the COO sitting next to her; thoughts regarding whom he was speaking to on the phone began to produce themselves, but all came to the same conclusion: Carlton Drake. It only made sense.

Mr. Marley then proceeded to conclude the call and return the phone safely back to the right pocket off his jacket. He noticed her staring at him and he smiled a benevolent smile, nodding. "He's aware that you will be arriving shortly. I'll escort you there."

She only nodded to him before she returned her gaze back to the window, watching as the view of the Life Foundation came closer and closer. It was a marvelous sight to behold, there was no doubt about that, even if she wasn't one for aesthetic pleasures. The achievements they had accomplished over the years, the 'miracles' they had performed, it was all something she would have been thrilled about witnessing as a child.

To some certain degree, she was interested in getting to see it personally for herself. Mr. Drake's genius had reflected itself accordingly to his creations, proving that the years they had spent advancing themselves had not been to waste. The schematics, the required planning, all of it had come from the mind of one person alone.

Even she had to admire that that was deserving of respect.

They passed through the gate with Mr. Marley displaying his identification card to the guards, granting them passage to into the facility. As she stepped out of the car, the first thing she noticed was how secluded the area was, with guards keeping watch of every corner of the place and with iron bars restricting entrance from every side. It was to be expected, of course, but it was nonetheless impressive to note all of the safety protocols they had taken into account when designing the place.

"Dr. March, if you would please follow me to Mr. Drake's office."

Like that, she wasted no more time on observing the exterior of the facility. In silence but with eyes as sharp as an eagle, she followed the COO into the building and did not waste any seconds observing the interior of the place. Scientists were everywhere, of all kinds; biologists, ecologists, engineers.

They all seemed like they were particularly interested in something, constantly moving back and forward with different destinations in mind, all of them seemingly oblivious towards her presence and the presence of their COO, though some seemed inclined towards greeting him as they passed by.

Mr. Marley noticed the attentive glances she cast around the place, and a satisfactory glimmer in his eyes reappeared as it had earlier. "Marvelous, isn't it?"

"Indeed, although my primary intentions lie with the CEO at the moment." Her answer was as curt as always, always focused on what lied ahead of her with no lingering glances to what lied behind her. The COO could only sigh as he heard this, having anticipated such a reply from her.

They took the elevator down to a lower lever of the building, and when they stepped out, the first thing that met her gaze was one of the scientists. A woman with a sturdy face, bespectacled, and dark hair that was held up in a ponytail. For some reason, she seemed oddly familiar, but she was not about to question it aloud.

The scientist seemed startled by their sudden apparition. "Oh, good day, Mr. Marley." Her eyes suddenly traveled over to Evelyn, and they widened a couple of inches as they apparently seemed to recognize who she was.

"Dr. Skirth," the COO friendly greeted her before he gestured to Evelyn. "This is Dr. Evelyn March, but you probably already knew that. You're the one recommended her to us, after all."

Dr. Skirth? Evelyn's eyes trailed up as this name entered her ears. The sensation of recognition suddenly made sense to her, but not in the way she initially believed.

The scientist's face – Dr. Skirth – lit up and she reluctantly reached her arm towards her in a greeting. "Y-Yes," she stuttered. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. March. My name is Dr. Dora Skirth."

Evelyn took her hand and shook it. "A pleasure as well, Dr. Skirth. I take it you're a relative of Dr. Janine Skirth."

"Her sister," Dr. Skirth affirmed, a smile spreading across her lips. On the contrary to the COO, this smile seemed genuine. "She told me of your accomplishments during your time at John Hopkins'. On top of her class to graduate; she was proud of being your teacher."

"Is it true that you're the one who referred me to Mr. Drake?" That question was inevitable, to say the least. Evelyn took her arm back and stood still, anticipating an answer. Surprisingly, the scientist seemed slightly reluctant to answer the inquiry.

"Y-Yes," she affirmed. "Mr. Drak- _We_ required a physician for our project. Not knowing anyone, I asked my sister for advice and she referred you to us."

So that's how it all was connected? Her old tutor back at University. Who would have thought that Dr. Janine Skirth would speak so highly of her to the present day in spite of the ethical discussions they used to engage in?

No matter, Evelyn did not linger on those thoughts for long before urgent matters seemed to steal the scientist's attention away. Hurriedly, she excused her absence and headed off into another direction.

"Dr. Skirth's one of our best researchers within the field's we're currently studying." Mr. Marley explained as they continued walking across the floor, passing by numerous of other scientists as they went.

"She seems competent if she's anything like her sister," Evelyn replied, eyes moving sharply across the vicinity. Everyone there seemed focused on something that she was unable to lay her eyes on. There were cells there with transparent walls, making it visible to the naked eye to see through. There were mattresses in some of them, as though people were inhabiting them like animals in cages.

This 'project' of theirs was suddenly becoming less and less plausible from where she was standing, if what she was seeing was even a part of it. But questions would have to be for later. They stopped in front one of the doors and it opened automatically as they entered the proximity of its sensors.

"As I was sayin – Charles! I was starting to wonder if you had gotten lost in the city."

A frivolous voice entered her ears as they stepped inside the office, and it wasn't until Evelyn laid her eyes on none other than Carlton Drake himself than she came to the conclusion that it belonged to him.

The CEO had a phone pressed up to his ear, but he soon ended the call and placed the phone neatly back into his pocket. The CEO and the COO greeted each other in friendly manners, shaking hands as though they were relatives having been separate for long.

But Mr. Drake's eyes soon fell on her. "I assume that you are Dr. Evelyn March?" Before she could answer, he already had his arm extended towards her. "Carlton Drake. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

She took his hand in return. "A pleasure, Mr. Drake."

"Please, the pleasure's all mine. You have no idea how good it is to have you here."

His words seemed to mean what they said, which was more than she could say for a lot of other people she knew.

"Charles," Mr. Drake turned to his colleague. "Would you mind stepping out for a while? I wish to talk in private with Dr. March."

The COO nodded in affirmation. "Sure, Carl. Don't just scare the shit out of her."

"Mind your language." The CEO scorned him. "We're scientists; not savages."

His colleague only chuckled as he exited the room, winking to Evelyn as he passed her by and the door closed automatically behind him. As soon as he was gone, Mr. Drake turned to face her with the same benevolent expression as before and gestured to the seat in front of his desk. "Please, sit."

"I would like to stand," she interjected neutrally, keeping her tone even and her face barren of emotions. "I'm not too fond of being inactive."

Though seemingly caught by surprise because of this, the CEO merely chuckled. "So we have been told. You're quite exceptional in your field, Dr. March. Some would even say inhuman."

"How am I supposed to perceive that statement, Mr. Drake?" she asked. "What some deems as inhuman, other deems as efficient. I've been addressed as both on similar occasions."

"As I have heard." He proceeded to reach for a couple of files that had been neatly placed on top of his desk. "You were born in Michigan, is that correct? That's a long way up north."

"I was."

"You studied at John Hopkins University in Baltimore, Maryland and proved yourself to be an exceptional student, if we are to listen to Dr. Janine Skirth's words. Graduated with outstanding grades and majored in Oncology at such a short time span." His eyes widened and lowered on unpredictable pause. "I can't say I'm not impressed."

"I would prefer it if we skipped to the purpose of this meeting rather than focusing on my past performances." Her voice was even, but not cold as it would have been in any other case. Despite herself, she knew not to make herself an adversary to one of the most successful CEOs in the United States. Especially not one she harbored respect towards.

But Mr. Drake shook his head without looking away from the documents. "But your past performances are exactly the reasons why you are here, Dr. March. You've saved countless lives with your knowledge of the human anatomy, the development of cells, the overall presentation within a field so few people manage to grasp."

"Is this attempt at flattery, Mr. Drake?" she asked unimpressed.

He shook his head again. "Those are the facts, Dr. March."

"And of what importance are my facts?" Admitting that she was growing slightly annoyed with this lack of progress would have been tempting had it not been for her self-control. "I was informed of some sort of proposal, yet I fail to obtain to knowledge about what kind of proposal it is."

Finally, Mr. Drake dropped the files on top of the desk, causing the sound of the impact to echo throughout the room. "Let me ask you, Dr. March, what did you do to accomplish your achievements?"

"Studied and learned," she answered truthfully, yet feeling her threatened to grit as she continued. "_Failed_ and learned."

Mr. Drake snapped his fingers. "That's the point. When you learn, you are willing to take risks."

She narrowed her eyes at him at the sound of this. "Would you please elaborate?"

"What would you be willing to do in order to improve the condition of a human being?" he inquired. "Even when all the odds stand against you, what would you be willing to do in order to achieve your goals?"

"Anything." Her answer was sharp and precise, without hesitation and with no lies involved. "I'm a doctor, and as such, it's my responsibility to take care of my patients in spite of the odds."

Mr. Drake smiled contently at this statement. "Exactly. What if people are against what you mean is right? Ethically speaking?"

"I have a tendency to look past sentiment if the process produces positive results." She glanced down at the documents on top of the desk, curious as to what kind of personal information they contained about her. More specifically, how they gained it. However, she could not help but notice that these questions had a pattern.

"Sir," she glanced back at the CEO from across the desk. "I assume that these queries serve a purpose other than to satisfy your curiosity?"

"Dr. March are you aware of what the Life Foundation's current objective is?"

Evading the question.

But she knew the answer. "To improve humanity's condition on this earth through space exploration and development of medicine and other advancements."

"And what do you think is necessary in order to achieve this?"

"Ambitions and perseverance."

"That's correct, but it's also the ability to make sacrifices for the greater good. The mentality that the ends justifies the means."

_The ends justify the means. _A Machiavellian approach towards complicated matters was something that was controversial in modern times, but she had always deemed it necessary in order to produce results that were to her liking. For the better good. Because of that, she could not afford to allow sentiment get in the way of such.

"What would you be willing to do in order to save the life of a patient?"

"Anything that I had to."

"Even if that meant going against their family's wishes?"

"Emotions can't get in the way of progress, or beliefs." She recalled occasions in the clinic where a patient's religious or ethical beliefs got between them and their recovery. It was such a nuisance when they prevented her from fulfilling her duties as a doctor just because of such trivial views.

Suddenly Mr. Drake took a couple of steps towards her, reaching his hand forward and placing it on her shoulder. It was a gesture which caught her off-guard, but she refrained from moving and kept her head steady despite her dislike towards physical contact.

"Dr. March," he said, tone low and face stern. "If you had to sacrifice few in order to save many, would you do it?"

"_Let me ask you, Ms. March, would you be willing to kill in order to save?"_

Dr. Skirth's voice echoed in her mind, but she knew to give the same answer.

Looking him straight in the eyes, she responded. "I would."

That answer seemed to satisfy him. He took a couple of steps back and headed for the exit of the office. "Dr. Janine Skirth was concerned about your disregard for ethics back in the days. Said that your ambitions would be the end of you if they learned no boundaries. 'Monstrous' she called it. 'Inhuman'."

Evelyn felt familiar with what he said. During her years at John Hopkins, she would get in frequent arguments with her teacher regarding the use of ethics in medicine. Whereas Dr. Skirth said that ethics were supposed to be prioritized over development, Evelyn disagreed. That was an argument which lasted until she graduated, and they never managed to end it properly before she left.

"Dr. Skirth was an excellent tutor, but too idealistic." She said, pulling a few strands of her hair behind her ear. "Sacrifices are inevitable in order to make improvement at something. Nothing comes without a price, and without a price, we can't have what we seek."

Mr. Drake opened the door and gestured for her to follow him, which she did. They stepped into the hallway and went further down past where they had come from.

"This is why we wish to acquire you for Project Symbiosis, Dr. March." He said without turning to look at her. "Your ability to look past ethics and do whatever means necessary in order to do good is what we need for this."

"Project Symbiosis?" She quirked an eyebrow at this. "You require someone with disregard for ethics?"

"Exactly." He asserted.

"Why?"

"Because in order achieve what we have set our current focus on, we have to make sacrifices, but few of these people have proven themselves willing to make those decisions."

A part of Evelyn grew slightly perplexed about what he was saying, but she kept it to a minimum and only kept following him further down the corridor until they passed by more of those cells she had seen earlier. Barren cells, void of life and containing nothing inside of them.

When they finally stopped, Evelyn opened her mouth and was about to ask about what the project regarded.

But as she opened her eyes and turned to look forward, her voice ceased to exist as she placed her eyes upon a containment cell in front of her. One which contained something _inhuman_ inside of it.

"_This_," Mr. Drake said. "_is_ _Project Symbiosis_."


	3. Chapter 3 - The Proposal

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom**

* * *

**Chapter 3: The Proposal**

* * *

There were many things she wished to say, yet none were able to make themselves audible to the ears of those whose presence she found herself surrounded by. An inhuman life was positioned in front of her, separated solely by a containment made of glass. At first, she imagined that it was only a sample of some kind of extraterrestrial organism, benign and docile.

That all changed upon observing its movements; twisting, turning, pulling like kinetic sand against a magnet. It had a distinctive black color, reminding her of the rotting carcass of a human being that had melted together into a mass. Its unpredictable yet consistent movements inside that container made approaching it seem like a threatening move.

"That's the organism?" Evelyn asked, finding herself both marveled and unnerved by what she was observing from less than a few feet away.

"We call them 'Symbiotes'." Mr. Drake stepped forward until he was just a few inches away from the organism, observing it with a marvel in his eyes that could only be compared to a parent looking at their offspring. It was a morbid comparison, but it was the only metaphor which seemed appropriate.

"Symbiotes?" Evelyn eyed the specimen as the words left her lips, feeling a seldom sense of uncertainty tremble through her body as she watched its movements continue relentlessly. "What are they?"

"Extraterrestrial life-forms that requires oxygen-breathing hosts to survive the exterior of our world," another voice said, a subtle nervousness being evident in her tone. Dr. Skirth entered proximity of the container but stood a few more steps away from it than Mr. Drake did. Evelyn, despite her composed self and lack of significant reaction towards the specimen that had just been presented to her, had to admit that this situation seemed direr than it had initially led onto.

Evelyn shot a side-glance to Dr. Skirth, taking note of her trembling hands and uneven posture. Dr. Skirth was afraid of their discovery, that much was obvious from the eyes of an underdeveloped fetus. Had it not been for Mr. Drake's focus on his specimen, he might have noticed it himself. Either that, or he might have simply shaken off her concerns. It did not seem like something he was above doing.

But what she had heard caused Evelyn to ponder. "They require oxygen-breathing hosts?"

Dr. Skirth nodded, hesitantly. "They are unable to withstand the oxygen their form and therefore needs to bond with something so that they don't perish."

"Like an organ donor?" Evelyn inquired, eyes trailing back to the specimen. "An exact match is required for the transfusion to be successful."

"Exactly." Dr. Skirth confirmed. "We've kept them contained in an oxygen-deprived environment, but they won't be able to survive for long unless they have a host with an exact match of what they need. We have tested them on animals, and most of the fusions have been successful, but …." There was a pause and she turned to the floor, afraid to look up for some reason. That fear had rendered her mute, her arms were shaking, her fingers continued to tremble _(nausea? anxiety? distress?)_

A part of Evelyn could not blame the other doctor for being fearful of their discovery. The oldest and strongest kind of fear was the fear of the unknown. Even so, further explanation was required on her part. She had a vehement dislike towards being left with an empty answer.

But whatever answer she was waiting for, Mr. Drake seemed to have the appropriate one in mind. "This is where you come in, Dr. March." He got up to his feet, his back still to her for a moment before he turned around and his gaze met hers. However, there was a distinctive difference between their countenances: Whereas his was filled with amazement and anticipation, hers contained less more than skepticism.

"For Project Symbiosis to proceed, we have to test them on something other than animals."

"Am I allowed to make assumptions, Mr. Drake?" she asked, voice evenly distributed between monotony and doubt. She cast one glance over Mr. Drake's shoulder and had her pupils shifted onto the creature that was still shifting against the glass. What he was requesting of her and her role in this wasn't as subtle anymore as it had been a couple of minutes ago. The reason why he required a doctor for this, and what kind of 'unethical' methods he was referring to.

"You wish to expose _human subjects_ to these organisms." It was not a question; it was a statement, and a firm one. It was one she knew was not incorrect, and if it was, it could not be too far away from the truth she was looking for. The affirmative look in Mr. Drake's eyes confirmed her suspicions, as did his nod.

"Think about the million possibilities we could have if we somehow managed to create a link between humans and these symbiotes," he explained, eyes widening to an inhuman point, sclera filled with an amalgamation of ravenous fascination and ruthless ambition. This prompted Evelyn to take a step back, but it was a subtle move and Mr. Drake did not seem to notice it.

"It would be mutually beneficial; the symbiosis make them able to survive her, but they would also allow humans to live out there, in space. They could also potentially cure everything that aligns us here on her; disease, overpopulation, _everything_. We could evolve, decrease the boundaries which keeps us from completions." He took another step towards her, arms moving unpredictably as he continued to speak. "Humans are weak, incomplete, filled with flaws that could easily disappear if we just dared make decisions most people would refrain from considering.

"Mr. Drake, these are pure speculations." She retorted voice sharpened, and eyes shaped to a glare. "Your hypothesizes are not confirmed unless you actually try bonding it to a human. What you suspect may be proven incorrect."

"That's why we require sacrifices, Dr. March. That's why we require _you_." Another step forward. "You're despised for your practical approach towards what most people would deem inhuman, because you are willing to take risks towards the greater good. Dr. Janine Skirth could not see it, your colleagues are unable to open their eyes towards your achievements, and your patients are incapable of appreciating the decisions you make because they think of you as evil because of it."

He spoke of her as though he had been acquainted with her for far longer than a couple of minutes. A part of Evelyn's being wished to snap at him for his insolence to try to analyze what kind of person she was, yet another part caused her to refrain from committing such a spontaneous act. Instead, she stood there, focus aimed solely towards him and arms crossed over her chest as a sigh escaped her.

"What you require are not sacrifices, Mr. Drake. You require martyrs." She told him, feeling her fingers tighten against her arm.

He raised his shoulders. "Is there a difference? Both contribute to the advancement of the human race."

"Sacrifices are only initiated if the results are certain, never otherwise." It was almost disturbing, and from her perspective, that was saying something. "But tell me why you need a doctor specifically for this?"

"We need someone to keep track of the symbiote's progress through its host; what changes, what improves, what doesn't improve, what kind of physical enhancements are produced from the result." He reached forward and placed a hand on top of her shoulder, eyes staring directly at her. "_We fail, and we learn_, Dr. March. That's what you said, and that's what is needed for this to work out. We need someone who is willing to make sacrifices. Someone who is aware of the consequences but continues because they know that it will benefit millions if it succeeds."

So this was what this was all about? Evelyn's mind began to contemplate on the information she had finally been able to obtain about all of this: The project, her role in it, Mr. Drake's means and results. With the help of alien lifeforms, he wanted to enhance humanity. The results were not what surprised her, as they were basically common knowledge around the entire state of California, but it was the means that were confidential.

And she had just been let in on it.

Mr. Drake must have truly been desperate if he was willing to share such intel with someone whose loyalty he was uncertain of. She was a doctor at San Francisco's general hospital, an excellent one, but a common oncologist regardless. The information they had gathered on her was just descriptions they had acquired from others, not form her personally, but the purpose behind his persistent questions now made sense.

They needed a doctor; more specifically, they needed someone who would not shy away from the inevitable consequences of their experiments, someone who would keep on working even if it meant sacrificing lives in order to do so. She did not sacrifice anyone's life, not deliberately, but she was willing to push boundaries if the potential results have proven themselves within her reach. There was a distinctive difference between her methods and the methods Mr. Drake presumed she had.

Sacrificing human lives on an experiment that was based on speculations and assumptions, with no certain ends other than possibly the survival of both species. That was a risky move, an extremely risky one. She was a doctor whose duty was to keep people alive, not balance their lives. That was what this experiment regarded.

"Asking a physician to give up their current occupation for a new one is a bold request, Mr. Drake. It's an even bolder one when it's an occupation where the objection is to use human specimen as a means to achieve their goals."

There was visible disappointment on Mr. Drake's face as she said this, and he released her arm and took a step back in visible shock. "I assumed you were one who was willing to sacrifice few in order to save many."

"Not on conclusions that are based on theories that are not backed up by facts," she stated plainly, ignoring his distraught expression. "The functions of an animal differs severely from a human, as you might understand. These organisms may not be compatible with humans at all. What you are asking me to do is gamble with lives, and that differs in perspective from being willing to make sacrifices. You are dealing with something that no humans have dealt with before, and we all know the plausible results from such contact. You use radiation to kill cancerous cells in the body–"

"Yet there are chances of the radiation hurting healthy cells in return." He interrupted her. "It's a fifty-fifty chance of destroying the cell entirely, just like this procedure."

"But we know the risks of exposure to radiation, but we don't know the risks of exposing humans to alien lifeforms." Her final answer was brief but sharp, efficiently shutting the CEO up before he could retort to anything else. The rumors of the Life Foundation using human test-subjects in order to evaluate their effectiveness was not something unheard of, but Evelyn now understood that there was a possible chance that it was not just all false information anymore.

Calming her exterior a bit, she shook her head. "I apologize, Mr. Drake, but what you are asking of me is something I cannot comply with." There was no point in staying anymore once she had made her decision. The sight of the black organism behind Mr. Drake was the last thing she glanced at before she turned around and prepared to leave.

But something stopped her before she was able to take the first step.

"Humans are filled with flaws, flaws that people like us are tasked with taking care of. How many people have died under your care, Dr. March? How many have died even though you tried your hardest to save them?"

She had been asked that question countless times by countless people; those words had sometimes come in the form of a threat whereas others had used them as a means to get her to regret the decisions she made on a daily.

"_It wasn't your fault, Evelyn. Don't blame yourself."_

"_You can't save them all."_

"_We're only human. We have boundaries."_

Dr. Lewis' words kept on ringing through her head like voices in a tunnel.

"With these symbiotes, we can save people, make them better. We can cure diseases that still have no cure, repair damages that could otherwise last permanently, keep them from dying on this inhabitable world." Mr. Drake continued to speak. "With them, we have a chance to survive. Humans are filled with boundaries, boundaries we will continue to work on and make progress with until they are no more. Whatever it takes."

"_**Whatever it takes."**_

Was this truly worth it? Could this potentially save people? Sacrificing few in order to save many, was that a decision she could take? Did she have the right to? She was no God – she didn't believe in any deity – so what kind of right did she have to experiment on people?

The image of Amanda Sawyer lying in a bed whilst wasting away struck her. She was a doctor, yet despite the countless people whose lives she had managed to save and improve, there would always be those whose ends had been written in stone.

_That young man she once recognized as healthy and happy was now sitting on top of his bed with iv-fluids attached to his arm like wires attached to a machine. Even though his bones were showing and his hair and discarded his scalp like a barren meadow, he was still smiling at her like he always did when they were children._

She returned back to reality and snapped her head back to face the CEO, glaring but contemplating. There was a heavy silence lingering between them before she opened her mouth, "I make no promises, but grant me some time to think about it."

A smile crept across his lips, satisfied, victorious. "Of course."

* * *

Much like Mr. Marley had promised her, she was escorted home without any fuss after she had given her answer to Mr. Drake. For the entire ride, her mind deliberated between her options, debating the advantages and disadvantages of her situation and what could potentially occur if she agreed or disagreed with their proposal.

Another image that failed to leave Evelyn's mind was that black substance she had watched sprawling around in the container. It was unlike anything she had seen, twisting like a worm yet behaving with what seemed like sentience. An organism such as that was … truly fascinating, but just as terrifying.

Evelyn had, despite her denial towards the fact, always had a fear towards the unknown, or things which's existence she could not comprehend. As a child, she used to cry whenever her brother showed her some kind of bug he had caught in their garden. It didn't help that he would chase her with it in his hand, teasing her immensely for it in the years to come.

But this was a different occasion; it wasn't a bug or some kind of insect the situation regarded. No, it was an extraterrestrial lifeform, one that could potentially bring ruin to them all or great enhancement that provided humanity with numerous benefits. For whatever reason, she was now contemplating whether to join them in their project or reject it entirely.

Had she been the same young and idealistic child she once used to be, she would have jumped through the roof with joy. She lived in a quiet neighborhood, so it didn't particularly matter if she did it now. However, there was no joy going through her, no sense of entitlement towards such a vital job. Even though she had not accepted anything yet, it didn't help her feel safe.

She lived in a quiet part of San Francisco, separated from the rest of the city and surrounded by people who knew how to avoid trouble if they knew what was best for them. The silence was a virtue here, which was the primary reason why she favored this spot above any other place in the city that had been offered to her by the estate agent that first showed her this place.

"Oh, Ms. March. Late night as always at the clinic?"

Glancing to her left as she reached for her keys, Evelyn spotted her neighbor Mrs. Rodriguez crossing the streets to get to her. She was a middle-aged woman, greying hair and wrinkles to accompany her age. There was not a trait of evil in that woman; she was married to a prominent congressman, mother to three children - all of whom were in college at this point - and was well-liked in the neighborhood for her inability to say no to help others.

A selfless human being; the idealistic example of a proper person in the eyes of dreamers.

"You know how it works, Mrs. Rodriguez. Late evenings, lots of patients."

When Mrs. Rodriguez came closer, the doctor noticed a couple of subtle changes in her behavior. She was halting in her steps, putting more weight on her right foot than on her left, and there was an exaggerated amount of make-up concealing the left side of her cheek. It might have been the trick of the lampost outside, but there was a bright blue spot peeking from behind the spot where the concealer had been applied.

Oblivious towards her suspicion, the elderly woman merely smiled. "You work so hard, dear, I'm starting to become worried. Are you eating well? Sleeping?"

"You are aware of my occupation, I'm certain?" Evelyn had to ask, finding her inquisitiveness to be highly unnecessary.

Mrs. Rodriguez rolled her eyes. "I'm aware of that, _Doctor_, but that doesn't mean you're not prone to neglect like everyone else."

"Neglect comes as a non-deliberate action, and be that as it may, my work tends to keep me occupied for most of the time," Evelyn explained, her hands fumbling in her pockets as she searched for her keys. "It's not that I don't want to eat or sleep, I simply don't acquire the time."

"Then maybe you ought to become the patient instead?" The older woman playfully suggested, giggling like a young school girl who had just spoken to her temporary crush. She then proceeded to place a warm hand on Evelyn's cheek, reminding her of the way her mother would use to whenever her brother used to tease her. "But at any rate, you should take some time to yourself. You're not invincible just because you're smart."

Evelyn let out a weary sigh and shook her head. "It tends to become easy to forget."

"Which is why I now order you to go straight to bed, young lady, after you have eaten something." And like that, the older woman gestured to her door and linger before she skipped back to her home and shut the door behind her. It didn't take long before the silence once more enraptured the environment; distant sounds from traffic was the exception. Evelyn found herself ensconced in that soundless exterior for a couple of seconds before she opened her door and entered her house.

How simple things would have been if everyone had the same view on life as Mrs. Rodriguez did.


	4. Chapter 4 - The Prospect

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom**

* * *

**Chapter 4: The Prospect**

* * *

"You think she will actually consider the offer, Boss?" Charles Marley asked eaned back into his seat with his legs crossed and his hand balancing a half-full glass of red wine; Montoya Cabernet, a good and stable balance between the sweet and the sour. "She didn't seem too keen on studying those freaks."

There came a loud _smack_ and Marley threatened to lose his glass as he flinched upon hearing it. Carlton Drake had gotten up to his feet in front of his desk and was now glaring vehemently down at his colleague. If looks could kill, Marley most certainly would have been lying in a pool of blood on the floor by now, that much was certain.

"You will watch your language when speaking about them, Charlie." The CEO'S chilling voice could have sent frost across the windows. "If I could trade all of you for just a small sample of one of them, just an insignificant piece of material, I would do so in a _heartbeat_. So keep that in mind the next time you decide to speak disrespectfully against our saviors. Otherwise, you might consider yourself the first volunteer to be sent in."

His words sent chills down Marley's skin and he shook his head, tightening his grip on the wineglass to the point where it threatened to shatter. "No problem, Boss. All I'm saying is that she now knows what we're doing, all of it. What's keeping her from spreading the news all over the city? Was it such a good idea to tell her everything at once?"

There was a moment of silence before the CEO shook his head, dismissive of his colleague's concerns. "We require a doctor if we're going to evaluate the compatibility between the hosts and the symbiotes. At the first sign of progress between them, we know the first steps in the direction. Besides," He ran a hand through his hair. "She won't tell anyone about this. I'm certain."

"How?" Marley asked with a nervous shake of his head, on the edge of spilling his drink on the floor. "The Doc isn't exactly renowned for her fondness towards people."

"No, but she still wants to _save_ them." His answer seemed to perplex Marley, which was the reason why he decided to elaborate further as to not leave the idiot in the dark. Despite being his right hand, the COO was denser than a loaf of bread from time to time. "She wants to save people because that's what she does, but she does not want to get involved with the sentimentalities that most often accompanies that sort of occupation. Working here, she could save people while at the same time avoid such string. It would be as ideal for her as it would be for us."

"How do you know this?" Marley got to his feet, taking a step forward in order to evaluate the sincerity located in his boss' tone. "Surely you did not ask about her personal relationships? That's a bit persistent, don't you agree?"

Drake was looking out the transparent wall instead of at his colleague, and his eyes remained plastered on the containers outside. His symbiotes were sprawling with life, ready to share and ready to take at the same time. It was the cruel balance of nature, but a necessary one if they wished to prevail on the dying rock they designated their home.

"Humans are predictable like that, once you learn to read them the right way." Drake answered Marley's inquiry with no pause, making sure to make it come off as firm as possible. "She's tempted to them just like the rest of us, to the symbiotes. She wants to find out more about them, study them, test their boundaries. Curiosity is a human quality that's practically mandatory, but few are actually able to use it for the better good. That's why Dr. March won't report us to anyone or say anything for that matter, because in the end, she's simply curious."

He proceeded to turn around with an unreadable expression, staring at Marley to the point where it felt intimidating to just look at him. He stood still for a moment, but then he suddenly snatched the wineglass out of Marley's hand before the latter could react to the absence of his alcoholic beverage. Drake remained indifferent to the appalled expression he received from the COO. "But if she is shown to be a disappointment, then I will have Treece take care of it. It's as simple as that."

The CEO took a sip from the COO's wineglass, smacking his lips upon tasting the flavor before a sour expression came upon him as though he had just swallowed cyanide. As Marley was about to ask what the matter was, Drake curtly pushed the drink to his him and let it go, prompting Marley to quickly reach for it before it had the chance to crash on the floor. Wine on the floor was a pain in the ass to clean.

"Montoya Cabernet?" Drake asked with a disapproving look in his eyes. "Your taste is getting worse, Charlie. It's too sour."

* * *

Evelyn had just stepped out of the shower by the time the clock struck ten the next morning, water dripping furiously down from her as she reached for a towel to dry herself. Steam concealed whatever reflection the mirror had in mind for her, which was more than a blessing than most people would care to admit. She must have looked nightmarish, something that was not an uncommon occurrence. Caffeine-addiction, sleep-deprivation, and lack of proper sustenance tended to do that to the human's physique.

She had woken up that morning with an agitating headache, most likely caused by either of her unhealthy habits mentioned above. That was the primary reason why she had gotten up in the first place, having imagined that a comfortable shower might have remedied it. Unfortunately, it did little to nothing to soothe the pain. The only thing she was relieved of was that she showed no signs of having influenza; neither coughing, shivering, or otherwise negative symptoms were present as far as she could detect.

Sighing, she dried herself before she put on her underwear and a bra, continuing onward with a t-shirt that had been lying in her closet for who-knew-how-long. It was a large one, featuring the symbol of Nitrogen. It had been Dr. Lewis' idea of a joke on the day she graduated from John Hopkins'. _"Since you're dry and cold,"_ he had said with a laugh, and in retrospective, she now understood why she had never bothered to wear it in the first place. Not to mention that the size was almost twice as large as it should have been, making it resemble a dress on her that reached to her hips. However, it was the easiest she could find at the moment, and she cared little for aesthetics regardless.

As she was about to exit the bathroom, the throbbing return of a headache caused her to abruptly halt in her steps and let out a weak groan, gripping her scalp in pain. There was no way that one would easily go away, and by this point, it was already becoming a hazard to her concentration. Ordinarily, she refrained from using medication unless it was absolutely necessary or if she was required to be on her uttermost capability at work. That morning proved itself to be one of those exceptions, as she opened her mirror-cabinet and searched for her bottle of Tylenol without wasting any time.

Her green eyes scanned the shelves for the blue bottle. After a couple of seconds of searching, they found nothing, but they suddenly lingered on the sight of a box of tampons that had been lying there for some time now; unopened and unused. It had actually been there for quite a few years, now that she thought about it. The plastic was still wrapped around it and a small but insignificant about of dust had gathered on top of it.

For reasons foreign to her, it served as a reminder of how she had never used menstrual products before, much less a tampon. This caused Evelyn to unconsciously place a hand on top of her abdomen, pondering on the prospect of bleeding from there. It was ironic how blood more than often indicated death or severe complications in the hospital, but with women in the bathroom, it indicated life and fertility.

When she was in high-school and had still not had her first period, her mother had gotten worried and taken her to the doctor to check up on her to see if everything was functioning properly. However, after the inspection, the physician had informed them with discreet details that there were dysfunctions in her reproductive system. Although her body had developed as it should have for her age, the lack of progress with her uterus meant that the chances of her being able to have a period – much less conceive a child – were slim.

Her father and brother had both expressed their grief upon hearing the news and her mother had practically bawled her eyes out in the doctor's office, which was more than what Evelyn herself did upon acknowledging the facts. She had not indicated any sadness that day in the office, which came to the surprise of the physician who imagined that she was prone to tears like the typical teenager. Even so, though she had not expressed her dissatisfaction in the same way her family had, there was always a part of her that felt inadequate because of that. An inadequate human being.

It wasn't like she had any interest in conceiving to begin with, nor had she never lain with a man before. When she attended university, she had become inquisitive about the biological impacts intercourse would have on her and the results of such. But it had been a long time ago, several years, and even then, her menstrual cycles ceased to arrive on anticipated notice. Having intercourse changed nothing about that either, so it was nothing noteworthy about that experience.

Her infertility may also have been a contributing reason behind why she chose to aim for medicine rather than the more orthodox careers most people had in mind. If she was unable to bring forth life, then she would do her best to preserve it. It had taken her years to get to this point, but considering how beneficial her current job was, she deemed it more worthwhile than becoming a mother. The prospect of holding a child in her arms never struck her as desirable, not once. Perhaps in a dream or so when she was young and hopeful, but only then.

Without thinking further about it, Evelyn removed her sight away from the box. The only reason she had that was that her mother insisted on taking it "just in case", but the saddened look on her face as she said this confirmed that she doubted the likeability of it ever happening.

After a couple of seconds, she finally successfully managed to locate the blue bottle with Tylenol that was on the shelf to the right of the tampons. Feeling the headache increase, she quickly opened it and pulled out two capsules, downing them both in one go with some water from the sink. It would take some time for the painkillers to kick in, but until then, only patience was required for the process to work.

As it was with all else.

Without wasting any time, she wrapped the towel around her shoulder and walked out of the bathroom and into the living room, reaching for the remote on top of the kitchen counter and turning the television on before moving to make some coffee to quicken her up. When she thought back on the subject, maybe there were more than just biological factors behind her infertility; the lifestyle she was leading wasn't exactly the healthiest one on the globe.

She let the news go on the TV as she finished the beverage.

"_Last night in Brooklyn, New York, publisher and Editor-in-Chief of the Daily Bugle John J. Jameson reported seeing the infamous vigilante Spiderman outside of his company's structure. The Chief Editor reported that the Spiderman was spying on him through the windows and plotting to attack him during the time he was most vulnerable."_

Upon hearing this, Evelyn scoffed and put the cup down on the counter, glancing at the tv with little interest other than to hear of Jameson's idiotic accusations. "One person is trying to play hero and the other one tries to catch him. Productivity at its lowest." People trying to make a difference by wearing some ludicrous costume did not exactly strike her as the most efficient way to do good in the world, even if they tried.

She had heard of her fair share of heroes in the modern ages. The Avengers, amongst a few others. Their determination and overall achievements were admirable, and they had saved many lived, but at the cost of many lives as well. Victory was always a bittersweet accomplishment, regardless of whatever noble intentions you had in mind. There was always a cost, something to lose in order to gain something else. It seemed like few people took that into account when they decided to go off and rescue people like the saints they aspired to be. Considering the consequences rarely seemed to apply to them.

_Heroes_. She recalled a time when her brother used to play superhero with some idiotic cape and run around the garden while shouting at the top of his lungs that he would defeat the bad guys and protect the city.

It was an amusing sight for their parents, until the day her brother climbed up a tree in order to save a stranded kitten. When he managed to reach it, the branch he held onto snapped and he fell down with the kitten beneath him, killing it instantly and breaking his arm on impact. He snapped his Ulna in two and dislocated the Radius.

That's where such recklessness got you most of the time. Either you winded up dead or injured, or someone else did. Her brother fell into a state of shock after that incident, not because he had broken his arm, but because he had just killed a living creature. Needless to say, he never touched that cape ever again.

Evelyn hummed as her mind wandered back to that moment, thinking about that heartbroken look in her brother's eyes. He was just seven years old, not aware of the existence of blood and intestines, and suddenly he found himself lying in a pool of both. Ironically enough, he expressed an interest in biology as he grew older. Not knowing whether or not that experience contributed to that, she could not say for certain.

All she knew was that it was a dream which he never got to fulfill.

Evelyn shook her head and turned the TV off, having grown tired with hearing more about heroes. She downed the last of her coffee in one go, feeling the hot liquid pour down her throat when her eyes fell on something that was placed not far away from the remote that she had not noticed until now.

It was the contact-card to the Life Foundation.

"That's right," she murmured to herself and put the coffee cup down again, stretching over to the card and holding it up in front of her. Mr. Drake had given her that before she left the previous night. She suddenly recalled everything that had happened that evening; Mr. Drake, Project Symbiosis, that … _Organism_.

Her eyes grew upon recalling its appearance, or lack thereof. A black mass, reminding her of sprawling worm, yet looking like it could do more than to just tear a few holes in the ground. Evelyn, despite herself, could feel the hairs on her arm stand up whilst thinking back on it. It was not fear that consumed her, but an amalgamation between curiosity and wariness. _Aliens_. Alien organisms that showed signs of sentience.

And the Life Foundation wished to expose humans to them. Test their boundaries, enhance them, _fail and learn_. Potentially, this experiment could have positive results, save lives, make things exceedingly better for humans. But it could also perform the exact opposite.

"_We're only human. We have boundaries."_

_"Then I will continue to work and make progress until these boundaries are no more. __**Whatever it takes**__."_

Those were the exact words she had told Dr. Lewis, and she meant every single letter she had pronounced. The only thing that had driven her through all those years of university was the knowledge that she could save people and preserve life while she was unable to bring forth new ones. She was not selfless, and she was no hero, but she still wanted to keep people alive, to strip them off whatever was rendering them weak and flawed.

"_Humans are filled with flaws, flaws that people like us are tasked with taking care of. How many people have died under your care, Dr. March? How many have died even though you tried your hardest to save them?"_

Too many. The numbers were inhumanly few, but they were still inhumanly too many. It had not been her fault that they had ceased to survive, yet she still felt it as though she had failed in her work as a doctor. What was keeping her from doing her job was those boundaries; those goddamn boundaries which the human body was filled with. If only they had not existed, then she could have….

Without being aware of it herself, Evelyn's fingers had clenched themselves against the kitchen counter and her teeth and were gritted to a painful limit. She could feel her jaw ache and her nails threaten to get ripped off her fingers, but the prospect of pain hardly hit her as much as it did the next person.

"_With these symbiotes, we can save people, make them better. We can cure diseases that still have no cure, repair damages that could otherwise last permanently, keep them from dying on this inhabitable world. With them, we have a chance to survive. Humans are filled with boundaries, boundaries we will continue to work on and make progress with until they are no more. Whatever it takes."_

Could what Mr. Drake had said been correct? Could humanity truly be saved if these lifeforms were allowed to bond with them, use them as hosts? A piece of her shunned away from the idea of deliberately using humans as Guinea pigs for an experiment with results that were not certain, but another part of her knew that sacrifices were inevitable in order to gain the results.

_Nothing could be gained without a cost._

It almost seemed hypocritical of her to judge the "heroes" for their idealistic points of view when she herself was starting to contemplate similar decisions. Had Dr. Lewis heard about this, he would have said no at once and probably reported it back to the government that unethical human experimentations were present in the city. He was always driven by his emotions and sentiment, it was part of his nature; one of his _boundaries_.

This was gravely taking its toll on her, and it did not do much to make her headache go away. Evelyn placed a hand over her head as her eyes continuously scanned over the card, reading the names and numbers over and over again.

She would not shun from pushing away ethics in it meant contributing to something. She had done that on numerous occasions in the past and earned herself the bitter resentment from most of her colleagues as a result. They would not be bothered by her absence unless their work depended on it, which it did on a number of cases. Her expertise was highly sought after, whether they liked it or not. Leaving the hospital out of the blue would be hazardous.

But there was no more time to ponder on the subject before a soft, yet persistent knocking arrived from the entrance door. Evelyn slowly turned her eyes towards where the sound came from, surprised by two things simultaneously.

One: why would anyone be knocking at her door on a Saturday morning?

Two: why would anyone be knocking at all?

The chances of visitors coming over uninvited was a slim one, even slimmer than the chances of her conceiving. For one thing, she rarely had any visitors. The only times she did was when Dr. Lewis came over "for good measure", or when Mrs. Rodriguez had baked a batch of her famous chocolate-chipped cookies and wanted to share some.

Typically, Evelyn hated sweets, chocolate in particular, but the persistence the older woman displayed on a daily proved incapable of accepting a no. Even when Evelyn had rejected numerous times, Mrs. Rodriguez still urged her to take them.

The knocking suddenly became stronger and more urgent now, like whoever was on the other side was in a state of immediate emergency.

"_Hello? Ms. March? Are you home?"_

She recognized that voice. It _was_ Mrs. Rodriguez, but it did not sound like she here because she wanted to share some cookies this time. Without caring about putting on some pants or to look decent, Evelyn headed over to the entrance door through her kitchen and unlocked it.

"Mrs. Rodriguez…." As she was about to open her mouth and ask about the occasion of her sudden visit, Evelyn found herself abruptly silenced upon looking at the neighbor's current state in front of her doorstep.

The older woman's face was bruised and bloody, even though it was evident that heavy amounts of make-up had been applied to it prior to coming over. She had a visible black-eye that could not even be concealed with paint, and there ran a straight crimson line down her face from her cheek, and her hair – which was usually kept up nice and tidy – was now in an uneven bun that which seemed like somebody had just pulled it over and over again. There was also a thin line on the right side of her forehead, blood growing noticeable through the cut bit by bit.

No words were needed to be spoken and none of them needed to have the explanation brought to their attention. The doctor stared with an unreadable expression at the woman's state before she looked her directly in the eyes, her eyes sharpened and her features firm as they would at the hospital. Without a word, she opened the door and allowed the older woman inside.


	5. Chapter 5 - The Lie

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom**

* * *

**Chapter 5: The Lie**

* * *

Bruises located in too abnormal places to have been caused by an accident, signs of head trauma, indication of a concussion, a sprained ankle that would have explained her halting the previous day, and a black eye. Evelyn successfully managed to apply bandages and sanitized band-aids to the older woman's minor injuries, and ice for the black-eye and the ankle, but applying hydrogen peroxide on the cut over her forehead proved itself to be a challenge.

The older woman refused to stay still on the couch and the doctor tired immensely to press the cloth against the bleeding wound. Time and time again, the neighbor refused to stay in place on the couch, twisting and turning in similar ways like the black organism did in that container. Evelyn found it to be a tedious comparison, but she nevertheless persisted in her effort to cleanse the wound.

"Mrs. Rodriguez, please refrain from moving so much," Evelyn said in an attempt to calm the woman down, despite knowing fully well that her words were not the comforting kind most people would wish to hear. Rather than to add a soft tone to her voice, it remained stern and strict in every way. "Allow me to finish my assessment."

Surprisingly, the older woman relented upon processing her words and slowly stopped moving as much as she had previously done, though the abrupt flinches and yelps were still inevitable. Be that as it may, it granted Evelyn the opportunity to clean the wound without further difficulties on her part. The abrasion was not too deep, but nonetheless bleeding a severe amount.

As she finally finished cleaning most of the blood away, she reached for the bandage in the kit and carefully wrapped it around the woman's head, making sure to pull most of the hair away as she covered the open wound with it. Now that she had attended to all of the injuries, Evelyn bent down by the couch and put all of the equipment back into the med-kit before she shut it soundlessly.

"The wounds are stable for now, but I will need you to refrain from any sudden movements. Do you understand?" she explained, not looking up as she put the kit away in the kitchen cabinet.

Yet no answer reached her ears. Instead, whimpers grew audible from the couch, prompting Evelyn to look up with narrowed eyes. Mrs. Rodriguez's eyes were filled with tears to the brink, eyes reddened and nose puffy. With the best of her abilities, she tried to deduce what was going through the woman's mind in regard to her emotional state, yet she was unable to come up with a reliable conclusion. _(Frustration? Denial? Regret?)_

Psychology had never been her field of expertise, nor of interest. Her focus was the physical well-being of her patients, not what drove them or what kind of emotions were present. Therefore, consolation and comfort would always be something she left in the hands to the other doctors or nurses. How she was supposed to deal with the situation was beyond her, but all she knew was that in this state, she would doubtfully receive a logical explanation from the elderly woman.

Even so, she did not require a full statement in order to unravel the circumstances. It was obvious what was going on, but this was the first time she managed to have it verified. The bruises and injuries on Mrs. Rodriguez were deliberate, intended, yet impulsive and spontaneous. Whoever had been there would have needed to be within close proximity, as expected, but why would the victim come to her neighbor instead of calling the police to report assault?

Humans were predictable like that, once you learned to read them the right way. Even though she was less than interested in reading their emotions and take them into consideration, it aided her whenever she needed to deduce the situation if words were excluded from the predicament. Their motives and interests, although of no concern to her, had their advantages on occasions. Mrs. Rodriguez did not wish to call the police or the hospital because she was afraid, not for herself, but for the person whose fists had inflicted her with those wounds.

What kind of person within close proximity could do as they pleased without having to worry about the consequences? Either a foolish criminal with a lack of regard towards the aftermath for their actions, or someone who knew that whoever they had assaulted would not report it to the authorities. Not to mention, Evelyn was no stranger towards seeing bruises on her neighbor's exterior appearance, so it occurred to her more than once that this was a frequent occurrence for the elderly woman.

"Mrs. Rodriguez," she asserted the older woman with a face void of emotions, as expected of her. "In order to keep matters as simple as possible for the both of us, it would be preferable if you told me who inflicted those injuries on you."

This seemed to perk the woman's attention, a fretful one. Mrs. Rodriguez hands were shaking, uncontrollably _(stress? nerve damage? hypoglycemia)_, but the doctor did not seem affected by this in the slighted. Instead, she awaited an answer, taking note of the turbulence that was present on the older woman's countenance.

"N-Nothing happened," Mrs. Rodriguez uttered, lips trembling as she spoke. "I s-simply had an accident. Nobody hurt me, I s-s-swear on it."

Needless to say, the doctor was far from impressed. Lies tended to get quick to notice once you were surrounded by lying people on a daily; whether it was people who refused to acknowledge their mistakes, patients that tried to cover up the stories behind their injuries, or colleagues who were too proud to admit that their competence could be debated.

Getting up to her feet again, Evelyn peered coldly down upon the woman and regarded it as her top priority to get the answer out of her through whatever meant necessary. "I'm no fool, Mrs. Rodriguez, let me make that clear. In order for me to do my job, I require an answer. A truthful one. If you fail to deliver, then I will be forced to have one of my colleagues take a look at you and make a conclusion themselves, someone I doubt will be as docile as me, considering the circumstances surrounding your injuries."

Her threat, albeit a subtle one, did not pass the older woman's notice. Mrs. Rodriguez's face peered up with what could only be fear. Her skin paled, her bottom lip quivered, and her eyes twitched as terror overcame her. She seemed torn between retaliating or staying silent, but the latter would undoubtfully produce dissatisfactory results on her end.

"Y-You ca-can't do that, Ms. March."

"I can if I deem it necessary."

"T-That's monstrous!" her voice shook with terror at the same pace as her hands did. "Don't you care about what your patients think?!"

Evelyn's expression dulled, but frustration was increasingly building up inside her. "My job is not to care, but to save. Keeping critical information away is keeping me from fulfilling my responsibility as a doctor."

She was unable to comprehend the neighbor's reluctance to admit the truth behind her wounds, even though it was already obvious. Why make things so much more complicated than they needed to be? Because she saw no point in clinging onto ridiculous answers for compliance. All she needed was a simple answer, an affirmation that what she suspected (and knew to be genuine) was correct.

Her neighbor opened her mouth, plausibly to object against this sort of verbal treatment, but she held her tongue and her face contorted into a more saddened look. She wanted to answer, yet an invisible leash was wrapped around her throat and threatening to kill her on the spot; snap her neck and keep the words from being pronounced aloud.

Fortunately, it seemed as though she had enough will to be able to free herself. "D-Dennis had a little too much to drink, that's all." She uttered, clamming her hands together. "I-It's my fault though, honestly." A weak smile contorted across her lips and her eyes met the floor like a long-lost lover. "I forgot to prepare the eggs in the way he wanted them. He has always been a picky eater."

The words were quickly processed and verified as genuine. Evelyn had dealt with countless lies and had worked up the ability to easily distinguish them from the truth over the years. She was content with knowing that Mrs. Rodriguez was speaking honestly, which saved her a lot more trouble. It was good that her speculations were proven to be correct, and now that she had proof, keeping her neighbor from being subjected to any more physical injuries.

Dennis Rodriguez; prominent congressman in association with the US House of Representatives, well-beloved in the neighborhood for his generous donations to the area. He was a saint, from the perspective of ignorant onlookers. He knew what string to pull, what measures to take, and what means to make sure that his extravagant activities remained concealed from the world.

On few occasions had Evelyn seen him in person. Even though she had little contact with her neighbors in general, infrequent interactions were inevitable. There were times where her neighbors would come over to her in order to have brief medical evaluations done in exchange for petty things like gifts or small sums of money. It was more convenient on their part than to go to the hospital.

However, she always rejected these requests.

Amongst these situations, Mr. Rodriguez was one of those said neighbors. He had once come in order to have his breathing tested, seeing it as his addiction to chain-smoking had cost him restricted inhalation. However, upon being told that he would have to go to the hospital as well, he grew irritated and threatened to have her license taken away. Though no case ever happened despite his threat, Evelyn never underestimated his ability to do more than just make threats.

Just like she never underestimated anyone's ability to do more than just speak.

"Be that as it may," Evelyn said, closing her eyes for a brief moment before opening them again. "Allowing this to continue will go against my duties as a physician. I will report this to the authorities and have appropriate measures be taken to ensure that–"

Before she could finish her sentence, Mrs. Rodriguez abruptly got to her feet and snatched her hand, keeping a firm grip on it as if letting go would mean the end of her. The older woman's eyes overflowed with tears as she desperately shook her head.

"No, you can't! Please, don't do it!" she cried, unable to contain herself any longer before the tears flowed down her cheeks. "You can't let them take my Dennis away from me!"

For the first time in a long one, Evelyn felt a foreign sense of irritability grow. "Why are you objecting? Your husband is deliberately afflicting injuries upon you that are in need of medical assistance. Reporting him will be–"

"No! He may be rough sometimes, but he loves me! I know he does!"

Evelyn was not impressed with her defiance, but rather perplexed. "He regularly subjects you to abuse and inflicts lingering injuries. How is that an act of love?"

Then Mrs. Rodriguez proceeded to glare her way, hostility growing apparent on the old woman's features as the young woman said this with uttermost equanimity. "Have you ever been married, Ms. March? Do you know what it means to love someone?"

The words came out as more antagonistic than she elderly woman had intended, and a piece of her regretted saying them. She was a guest in the doctor's home and had just been treated without being demanded payment. How did she have the audacity to be this rude?

She held her face in shame, not daring to look the doctor in the face. "I- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to–"

"I have not committed myself to love in the same way you have, Mrs. Rodriguez, so, therefore, I am unable to evaluate what such would involve from a personal perspective."

To her shock, Mrs. Rodriguez looked up and saw nothing which indicated melancholy with Ms. March. Her face had not changed from the moment she looked away, and it seemed as firm and void of emotions as it had always been.

But then the doctor's eyes became cold again. "However, a relationship where one party takes advantage of the other one without regard for the consequences is not one worth holding onto. Such should be discarded, not encouraged. What you're doing is putting your physical well-being in danger and as such, it is my duty as a medical associate to report such to the authorities."

There were no ill intentions as far as Evelyn knew, nor were there any particular good ones either on her account. It was her responsibility to keep people from being subjected to physical violation in her notice, and now that she had all the evidence she needed, she wasted no time walking past the elderly woman to reach her cellphone on top of her living room table.

But she never made it that far before something intervened.

Mrs. Rodriguez clasped her hand around her wrist as she tried to reach for the phone, not nearly enough to prevent her. Mrs. Rodriguez was a lady well beyond her fifties, nearing her sixties in plausibly not too long, and her strength could easily be compared to that of a child. Still, Evelyn turned her face around to face the woman, eyes narrowed.

"May I request that you let go?" she asked.

But the old woman's face did not match intentions of submission. She violently shook her head, eyes twitching and hands trembling more now than ever.

"P-Please don't call the police." Mrs. Rodriguez pleaded humbly, eyes aimed to the floor. Even with her left foot partially incapacitated, she showed incredible balance now. "They'll take him away. They will take my Dennis away, and then I will be all alone. I seldom see my children and I have no one left if he's gone."

But the doctor showed no signs of giving into her demands. "Regardless of your solitude, your husband is deliberately violating you and is therefore required to go into police custody. Understand that if I allow this to continue, it will interfere with my work. I request that you stop complicating things."

Yet the older woman did not let go of her that easily. "Please, Ms. March. Please don't let them take my husband away. I – I don't wish to be alone."

Evelyn failed to understand these words much less than she understood that black organism back at the Life Foundation. Even _that_ was a concept she could comprehend to a certain degree, but the things this woman was spewing made no sense to her. Were injuries preferable to separateness? Would this woman deliberately put herself in harm's way just because she could not bear the thought of being in an empty home by herself?

A life where one's own existence was dependent on another's seemed like a miserable existence altogether from her perspective.

_A parasitic bond._

"_Humans are filled with flaws."_

If these weaknesses were part of human flaws, then they were truly a dying race.

Nothing was gained without a price.

If Mrs. Rodriguez safety could only be attained by separating from her husband, why would she foolishly decline such an offer?

What sort of fool would not sacrifice something in order to achieve something else for the better good?

Evelyn let these words sink into her before she finally decided that this was getting her nowhere. Other measures would have to be taken.

"If that is what you wish," she said calmly, her eyes meeting Mrs. Rodriguez's with the uttermost composure. If this could convince her to let go of her and make things easier, then she would have to do whatever she deemed necessary in order to handle the situation.

Mrs. Rodriguez' eyes lit up with hope and her grip lessened. "Y-You won't report him?"

"I won't," Evelyn verified, feeling the woman slowly let go of her.

"**_Whatever it takes."_**

* * *

People had called her a lot of names throughout her life, few of which she bothered remembering. They were more than often produced from the fact that she did not care about personal opinions, as long as she got the job finished. She was not above using whatever means necessary, nor was she disgusted by the prospect of breaking promises.

As someone who knew how to distinguish lies from the truth, she was an exceptional liar herself, though she seldom spoke lies. That hopeful glimmer than shone in her neighbor's eyes as she said that her husband would be spared the penance of being taken into custody was something she did not take into consideration as she reported the incident the next day at the hospital to the authorities.

When she arrived home that same day, she became the spectacle of Mr. Rodriguez being escorted to the police car in handcuffs by officers whilst cursing their names and making blatant threats that failed to reach her ears from across the road. What she did notice was that Mrs. Rodriguez was desperately trying to detain the officers, even though the new marks on her face were plain from a mile away.

The older woman was wailing at the officers, getting to her knees and begging them to cease their "assault" on her husband. The officers gently kept her from interfering, which caused quite a scene for the other neighbors nearby. Watching a congressman get taken into custody for domestic abuse against his wife was quite a scandal. Most of them were appalled by it, keeping their children from going out while this was happening and taking pictures with their phones to put out on social media.

As for the doctor who had been the one to cause it all, her reaction was merely a nonchalant one as she stepped into her home, not casting a second glance in the general direction where the scene was taking place before she shut the door behind her. From her perspective, she had done nothing wrong. She had done what she was supposed to do, as a doctor. She had done her duty, nothing more and nothing less.

Evelyn March had been called many names throughout her life, but one that seemed to repeat itself came on her doorstep from a furious Mrs. Rodriguez. She had been crying and her hands had been clenched into fists as she shouted one word to the doctor's face.

_"INHUMAN!"_

**_"You're despised for your practical approach towards what most people would deem inhuman, because you are willing to take risks towards the greater good. Dr. Janine Skirth could not see it, your colleagues are unable to open their eyes towards your achievements, and your patients are incapable of appreciating the decisions you make because they think of you as evil because of it."_**

If people didn't wish to be saved, then what good were they? Accepting death was not something she considered a virtue, and it was not something she herself would accept. Therefore, as she stepped into her living room after Mrs. Rodriguez's unexpected (And brief) visit, Dr. March's eyes fell on top of the business card belonging to the Life Foundation and she experienced a sensation she seldom felt.

_Interest_.


	6. Chapter 6 - The Experiment

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom**

**A/N: So, an extra long chapter this time, which I sincerely hope you will enjoy. As I was reading more and more about the Venom symbiote and the developments of this movie, I came to the conclusion that I would make some changes from the comics and adapt them into this story. Hopefully it will turn out well and I apologize if some of you comic-fans will become angry with it. However, I have not concluded anything yet, so all that remains is some more planning. **

**\- W.W**

* * *

**Chapter 6: The Experiment**

* * *

Carlton Drake always knew that his ambitions would pay off one day, even though his parents did not express the same kind of enthusiasm as he did. "Too idealistic" they often called him, much to their son's chagrin. Was it a bad thing to be able to look into the future and see hope? A bad thing to wish to work hard to achieve it? Even after he managed to find a way to triple the life expectancy of patients diagnosed with cancer, they never ceased to be pessimistic about his chances.

But what he was about to accomplish now was larger than anything he had ever done before. He had founded the Life Foundation, performed divine "miracles" in the eyes of people (even if their God had abandoned them), and he was now about to unravel the mysteries that would ultimately save the humanity he loved so much. He loved it enough to be willing to sacrifice anything to achieve such success, regardless of what.

He cast a side-glance to the physician in the white coat next to him, feeling pride overwhelm his chest in a way that could have made him jump with pure delight. Despite her initial reluctance to comply with their experiments, he knew that there was no way that a pragmatic individual such as her would ever decline the chance to save people. The world needed more people like her; people who were willing to make sacrifices for the better good, and who did not require the approval of others in order to do so.

It was a quality he wished was present in Dr. Skirth as well. Unfortunately, beggars could not be choosers.

"I'm glad that you decided to give this a chance, Dr. March," he spoke with appreciation, noting the way her usually-sharp eyes turned to focus on him.

"As I said," she began stoically. "I'm not making any promises. I will evaluate the results and see for myself whether or not this seems promising."

He nodded her way and turned his head forward again, successfully managing to hide the smile which spread across his lips upon processing her answer. "Of course, that is understandable." It wasn't like he couldn't understand her skepticism. In any other situation, he would have done the same, but he had witnessed these symbiotes, these miracles, for the past six months now and he imagined – no, he _knew_ – that it would not dissatisfy her.

The doors leading into the primary cells opened in front of them upon acknowledging their presence and inside the two went, greeted by the sight of their fellow researchers. They were all prepared for this, after six long months, the moment was finally there.

Almost.

As they entered their range of sight from the hallways, all pairs of eyes turned their way and a few of them grew wider upon noticing the new figure that was accompanying their CEO. Either few of them had failed to acknowledge her the previous day or some of them never bothered to care about the fact that Dr. March was about to make their development go much smoother.

The arrogance within them was present from an external perspective, and it sickened Drake to see it in person. Even so, he pretended not to notice it as he smiled their way and walked up ahead, gesturing the doctor to stay on the side as he turned to face them all. He easily gained their attention, and as soon as he had secured it, he began to speak.

"My friends," it was a charismatic way to start. "In less than a few minutes, we are going to make history." With his arm tilted towards Dr. March, he continued. "This is Dr. Evelyn March, a competent physician who is here to contribute to the same degree as the rest of you. Therefore, I ask that you all treat her with the same respect as you would with each other. Her role in this might be one of the most critical ones at this point, as her task is to evaluate the volunteers before we start this experiment. Do you understand?"

Receiving no objections, he nodded and clasped his hands together. "Beautiful. Now, Dr. March," he turned to Dr. March, whose eyes were consistently aimed at him with barely any blinking noted. "Dr. Skirth will escort you to our first volunteer. I'm certain that you know how to perform an assessment?"

"If I did not, I doubt you would have requested my presence in the first place, Mr. Drake." Her response noticeably caught the rest of the researchers by surprise, as her bluntness must have left quite an impression. Drake could not help but smirk at this act of bluntness, which would undoubtedly have inflicted offense upon his subordinates.

"Of course," he declared, casting a gesturing nod in Dr. Skirth's way. On point, the ecologist knew what to do and she sent him an affirmative dip before she proceeded to head towards the newly-required doctor. It was not long until they both were gone from sight, and Drake could only await the results, his chest throbbing with excitement and uncontained euphoria.

* * *

She followed Dr. Skirth to a cell that was separated from the others. It seemed sanitized and neat, much like the typical room in a hospital. Equipment that she would undoubtedly require in order to perform the assessment was present, and she doubted that it would take up a lot of time before they were finished.

Then she immediately noted a man sitting on top of the bed that was present in the room, wearing white clothes. He had considerably long hair _(twelve inches? fourteen inches?),_ with noticeable pale skin _(iron deficiency? alcohol withdrawal? drug abuse?). _She doubted he was much older than twenty or so, but it was evident that circumstances had not been kind to him. What kind of offer did the Life Foundation make in order to ensure his cooperation?

"All we need are his vitals. I will alert the guards once you have finished your inspection," Dr. Skirth said, earning her a side-glance from the doctor. "Should you require anything, I will make sure that you have it."

Evelyn looked at the equipment that was present in the room on the table next to the man, but noted nothing that was absent. This was a general inspection, so she assumed that not too much would be required. Even so…

"You have a long range of competent doctors and scientists here, so I don't quite see how you would not be able to evaluate the volunteers yourselves," Evelyn cast a scrutinizing look at the doctor, noting the similarities between her and her sister. They were alike, no doubt, but Dr. Skirth held a certain brilliance that her tutor had lacked.

Dr. Dora Skirth seemed taken aback by her answer, but her eyes held no subtlety. She was afraid, but not of her. "Mr. Drake does not need a doctor," she admitted, taking a step back as to put difference between them. "He needs someone to share his view."

"An inhuman view," Evelyn established, nodding with no brief look of reluctance. "He's not too subtle about his ambitions."

"He's … not." Dr. Skirth agreed. "But I'm concerned about … these ethics."

"Or lack thereof."

"Dr. March," The other doctor had a question that had been plaguing her ever since the physician's initial arrival. "May I ask you something?"

Evelyn nodded.

"What made you come here today? What made you wish to work with …this?"

"What made _you_ wish to work with this, Dr. Skirth?"

"I…" the ecologist hesitated. "I wanted to save lives."

"Then you have your answer."

There was a brief moment of silence and Evelyn noted the uncertainty that clouded the other doctor's features, as though something was on her mind and she wished to vocalize it aloud. Dr. Skirth opened her mouth, shutting it briefly before opening it again, but nothing came out in the way she wanted. Instead, she merely nodded and exited the cell.

As soon as the door closed, Evelyn began. She placed herself on top of a chair across from the volunteer and reached for the notepad that was placed by the equipment next to her.

"Are you one of the doctors?" the man suddenly asked after a brief moment of hesitation.

"I am," she clarified without looking up.

"Do you know what I'm supposed to do?" he queried nervously. "They told me I was supposed to take part of some kind of experiment, but I don't know what it involves."

He had not been told beforehand what kind of experiment it was he was supposed to participate in? Evelyn felt a tingle of irritation arise in her chest, but she did not allow it to overtake her countenance. "You will see," she replied, pupils aimed at him as soon as she finished writing the date on top of the paper. Her look seemed to render him threatened, as his pupils dilated upon making contact with hers.

Instead of lingering on this, she prepared to do her assignment and got straight to business. "Name?" she requested.

"Oh… Uhm … Isaac. Isaac Burton."

She wrote the answer down.

"Age?"

"Twenty-five. Twenty-six next Tuesday."

After getting the basics down, she proceeded to check his blood pressure and respiration, all of the physical evaluations she had the ability to perform. Height and weight included. He was malnourished, that much was apparent, but not to a severe amount. His heart rate and inhalation was slightly off, but she found nothing too out of the usual except for slightly high blood pressure (_alcohol abuse? drugs? nervousness?)_. His pupils dilated naturally upon exposure to bright light, indicating nothing severe for the moment, but he was in a bit of a dazed state.

After lettering down the results, she resumed. "Are you on any medication or drugs? Have you taken anything recently?"

"N-No, I don't take steroids or anything. Not since I was a kid."

"Past medical history? Any allergies or illnesses?"

"I'm allergic to cats, still am. I used to have mild asthma, but not anymore."

"Any hereditary diseases that you are aware of? Cancer? Heart problems?"

"My grandmother passed away due to some kind of heart condition a few years ago."

"At what age?"

"Eight-six or so, I think? She just… dropped."

"Heart failure or coronary artery disease is a common affliction at such an old age." She continued to write down the results she received. "Any addiction? Alcohol? Tobacco?"

Of course, she could already spot the discolor on his teeth to verify the latter.

"I tend to smoke and drink sometimes when I have the cash," Mr. Burton folded his hands over one-another, fingers knotting on occasion. His eyes were on the floor as if he was avoiding direct eye-contact. "I-It makes things easier."

There was no reason to stick to the question. "Diet?"

"How I eat?" He bit his thumb uncertainly. "Not too good. Mostly cheap food like hot-dogs or something when I get the money. Nothing too good for a poor shit like me to eat, is it, doc?"

"Nutrition is not my field of knowledge," she admitted with a voice that did little to express interest. "but I would say you suffer from iron deficiency, elevated cholesterol – do you suffer from headaches frequently?"

"… Sometimes."

"Too much sodium tends to do that. You're malnourished, but the little you consume contains nutrients that cause your body to break down internally over a longer period of time." For the first time since the inspection began shortly ago, Evelyn raised her head and met the eyes of her patient. "But for the time being, you seem physically stable enough."

She had to admit that there seemed to be missing qualities with this individual that she would have assumed that Mr. Drake would have taken into consideration prior to asking him to participate in the experiment. She had expected them to elect someone more… enduring than that Mr. Burton, not someone who looked like they were barely clinging onto a stick on a tree.

As she wrote down the last evaluations on the file in her hands, she got to her feet and turned around to exit the cell, prepared to inform the guards that the examination had been finished and that the project could proceed as planned.

"Mr. Drake said he would give me a lot of money," Mr. Burton suddenly murmured behind her, almost sounding as though he was whispering to himself. "Enough so that I can maybe reenter school again, finish my education, go home to mom and dad."

She did not understand it, but for whatever reason, Evelyn had stopped walking and was actively listening to what he was saying. Curiosity grew present in her and she turned around to look at him. "Why are you unable to go home?"

Surprised, the man gazed up at her upon hearing her assert him. "When I dropped out of school, my dad told me to never come back unless I got my shit together."

So that was his reason for agreeing to participate? To get together his life for the sake of a parent that expressed nothing but displeasure with his son unless he managed to gratify him. Evelyn kept her face neutral, but there was a grip around her chest that she could not explain the condition behind.

"If you manage to get your life together," she said slowly, looking towards the exit as she conversed. "Don't waste your time going back to your parents."

"Wha- Why?"

"They don't want you to succeed in life," she explained, murmuring her words to a near-inaudible point. "They want it to seem like they succeeded in raising you. They wish to satisfy themselves, not to appreciate you for you. There's a distinctive difference."

Why was she talking like this, like she actually had anything to say about this? This was not something for her to get involved with. Her task was finished, she was supposed to report back to Mr. Drake and let them know that the volunteer had been examined and was now at their disposal. Her task was not to give anyone her opinion.

She dismissed this as a mere peak of curiosity and opened the doors to the cell, casting one last glance back at the volunteer. "I'll inform Mr. Drake that you're finished and ready to join us shortly."

Dr. Skirth was waiting outside of the cell, her eyes contacting the ground and both her arms wrapped around each other for comfort. Her fretfulness did not disappear as the doors into the cell opened and Dr. March exited with the files in hand and a dire look in her eyes. The ecologist tried to mask her nervousness with a timid smile as she saw the young woman approaching. "I take it the assessment went?"

"He's ready to proceed." Dr. March affirmed, much to Dr. Skirth's dismay. Unbeknownst to them both at the time, neither party were looking forward to witnessing the process as much as they had initially imagined that they would. The difference was that one of them was better at hiding it from plain view.

* * *

"Thank you all for bringing us to this moment," Mr. Drake pronounced, in all his glory, with pride seething from his presence like some kind of odor. Standing on the side, separated from the rest of the researchers, Evelyn watched the spectacle without taking her eyes of what was about to happen. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she was leaning against the glass wall behind her, silently contemplating the looks on each and every scientist.

She could see all kinds of emotions present on their features, despite her inability to properly distinguish from one another; excitement, fascination, anticipation, and uneasiness. If she had remained that young, hopeful student she once used to be at John Hopkins', she would have jumped with joy upon being able to participate in an experiment with the Life Foundation. She would have cried with excitement and stood out like a sore thumb.

But she didn't. Instead, Evelyn kept her thoughts to herself and stayed firmly in place, not letting anything from her thoughts become visible from an external perspective. If she wanted to conclude the situation, she needed to observe, and that required two qualifications; silence and concentration.

Yet every here and then, her eyes kept on flickering back to the organism that was twirling inside if the container within the cell behind her; never-ending movements. This was not the same one as the one she had previously seen; this one was blue, and seemed somehow less … docile than the previous one had done.

"Our names will be spoken long after we're dust." Mr. Drake continued just as the volunteer, accompanied with two other scientists behind him, entered proximity on the other side of the cell. "History starts now. This is day one. This is first contact."

Mr. Burton seemed more aware now than he previously did, more alarmed of the circumstances. Upon acknowledging his arrival, Mr. Drake's lips curled. "Let's get to work."

They all watched as Mr. Burton was escorted into the cell and promptly closed in with the container; the blue symbiote seemed to acknowledge his presence just as Mr. Burton seemed to acknowledge its' with his pupils growing smaller upon seeing it within such close range _(fear? disgust? intrigue?)._

"_Establishing subject baseline,"_ a voice echoed in and outside the cell. _"All vital signs are normal."_

The volunteer seemed to notice the researchers standing on the other side of the glass and he pressed his face towards it, eyeing them all with nervousness.

"Dr. March, what was his name again?" Mr. Drake inquired, looking over his shoulder to where she was standing.

"Isaac Burton." The doctor verified, stepping closer towards the glass with porcelain eyes starring into what it contained. Her level of fascination could not reach up to his, Drake knew as much, but it was hard to read her facial features even from a close range.

Nodding at this, Drake ordered them to patch him through to the volunteer. This would require persuasion in order to work, and if there was one thing he knew, it was how to persuade.

"There's no need to be frightened, Isaac." He put on the most charming smile he could manage. "There's no need." Seeing the submission in the volunteer's eyes made him beam even more. "Isaac, you know that's a biblical name?"

The volunteer nodded. "Y-Y-Yes, s-sir?"

Evelyn's eyes narrowed as the CEO attempted to use divine stories to win Mr. Burton's trust, feeling a part of her grow agitated upon this ridiculous metaphor. Divinity was a concept she found to be fictional, based on lies that could be exploited into gaining power. It worked for the Pharaoh in Ancient Egypt and it seemed to be working now as well.

The power of belief.

"God said to Abraham, 'Give me your son. Show me you are willing to sacrifice the one thing most precious to you.', and Abraham was willing." Mr. Drake stepped closer to the glass, closer to Mr. Burton. "You know what's always impressed me about that story? It isn't Abraham's sacrifice; it's Isaac's."

He gestured Mr. Burton to step closer to the glass, closer to him, and the latter did so, albeit hesitantly.

"I don't know if a God would ask that of someone, but it doesn't change anything for me. Isaac is still the hero of this story."

Growing up, Evelyn was introduced to the Church at a young age. Her maternal grandmother, being a strict Catholic, always ushered her mother to introduce her children to the miracles their God would bestow upon them once they devoted their lives to the deity up in the skies. It was also partially the reason behind her name, which her grandmother had pressured her mother to choose, and that was something Evelyn never approved of whilst growing up.

When her brother and she were attending church every so often at the demands of their grandmother, being forced into reading the bible and listening to the tales of their pastor, she could not avoid becoming curious as she got to the part about Moses and the ten plagues. How could water turn into blood upon the touch of a staff? How could fire descend from the skies? How could the sun just simply vanish into darkness? None of it made any sense to her at all, even as a child.

These questions plagued her young mind whereas her brother thought nothing of it. As such, she began to read more into the scientific reasons behind the plagues, finding more and more answers than the Book of "God" could ever provide her with. How algae were the cause of the red river, and how a solar eclipse was the reason behind the pitch darkness that had rendered Egypt in shadows.

Upon presenting these findings to her grandmother, the latter grew enraged and berated her for looking up things that stood against the Maker himself. It was at that point that the older woman took her frustrations out on her mother, blaming her for raising her children to be "disobedient spawn". Though they still kept in contact, albeit seldom, throughout the years, the bitterness her grandmother harbored towards them never quite ceased. Evelyn's choice to pursue medicine and science didn't really help improve things either.

Not that she genuinely cared either way.

This was why she could not quite understand Mr. Drake's reasons for bringing up stories like these in the face of science.

"Look around you," he said to Isaac. "Look at the world. What do you see? War, poverty. A planet on the brink of collapse. I would argue that God _has_ abandoned us." His velocity increased upon pronouncing the actions the Creator had committed. "He didn't keep his end of the bargain, Isaac, so now it's down to _you_ and _me_ to put this right. And this time, Isaac, we can."

He pressed his hand up against the glass, expecting Mr. Burton to do the same on the other side. The latter did not disappoint and did the same with a small glimmer of hope in his eyes. Evelyn witnessed this next to Dr. Skirth, noting the other woman's tension upon watching what was transpiring. Meanwhile, the thing inside the contained kept on twisting and curving, seemingly eager to get out.

"You said that you once bonded one of them to a rabbit," Evelyn stated and turned a sharp glance towards the ecologist, watching as her features lowered and raised themselves _(doubt? denial? fear?)_ on an unpredictable interval. "What happened to it?"

Dr. Skirth's bottom lip quivered, as though the answer was on the verge of slipping her mind but being somehow unable to do it at once. "It consumed it."

_Consumed it?_

"We will," Mr. Drake said, his head turning to signify an affirmative response. "This time, I will not abandon us.

Mr. Burton's face twisted with tearful eyes, supposedly believing every single word that Mr. Drake had spewed into his head. Evelyn wished to object, to somehow tell Mr. Burton that the answer he had received was neither an accurate nor a precise one. His life was hanging on a thread if this proved itself unsuccessful, yet the major part of her knew that doing so would do little to no good.

Humans were prone to fearfulness toward what they could not understand. It was in their nature, and right now, they did not require a human being.

They required a _sacrifice_.

"Open it,"

What happened next was something she had committed the mistake of underestimating. Despite her attempts at staying composed throughout the predicament, Evelyn's green eyes widened ever-so-slightly as she watched the scene unravel in front of her like a package.

As the blue mass was released from its containment, it slid down onto the floor and continued to move across it. Its movements were stranger now that she was finally able to watch it move from outside the container. It reminded her of the kind of web a spider would produce, only that it had a sentience of its own and was now moving towards its prey.

She found herself frozen in place, hands trembling inside her pockets and stomach dropping further down her abdomen than she thought possible. On the outside, she did not seem much different than a bit surprised, but there was no doubt that there was something foreign crawling inside her chest; something which seldom appeared.

It was doubt.

Mr. Burton was banging on the window as the thing began to close in on him, screaming and begging them to let him out of there. However, none of them moved an inch. The researchers stood there, watching everything with a morbid enthusiasm in their eyes. Only Dr. Skirth seemed like she wanted to object against the experiment, but she did little more than to look a little disturbed.

Evelyn looked to the screen where Mr. Burton's vitals were displayed. His pulse was increasing drastically, and his heartbeats were as well, matching an athlete running a marathon. As she looked back to the cell, she watched as the blue mass climbed up to Mr. Burton's abdomen, who was by now frozen with fear. His eyes were aimed at the ceiling, wanting it all to be over.

The symbiote reached a bit further up, as if it was examining the person on whom it was currently attached to. It seemed to pause for a second before it – to her bewilderment – vanished straight into him. There was no mark left on him, no stain of any kind. It had just simply disappeared as if it was never there to begin with.

Evelyn shifted her eyes back to the screen, shocked to see that his pulse was decreasing to a normal rate along with his heartbeats. 136 and 81 respectively. "His vitals are stable," she confirmed, looking back at Mr. Burton. This was incredible, there was no doubt about it. She took a couple of steps closer towards the glass, her eyes marveled and her composure regained.

The researchers expressed their fascination and even Mr. Burton seemed relieved, although still in shock. He seemed completely unharmed, no signs of exterior or interior damage as far as Evelyn's eyes could detect. Cautiously, she placed her hands up to the glass, feeling the cold surface brush against the tips of her fingers.

Was there truly something like hope for the world now? Could this truly be the key to humanity's salvation? Could they be saved?

But just as soon as it appeared, the look of relief that washed over Isaac's countenance disappeared. His limbs started to twitch and turn to breakable points, causing a cold feeling to enter Evelyn's stomach as she became a witness to this. Mr. Burton let out an ear-deafening scream, evidently in agonizing pain, and his neck started to snap around. His shoulders went from left to right and there were visible bulges beneath his skin that were developing.

It wasn't long before all of his bones began to snap and twitch in all sorts of directions. His veins were growing unbearably visible beneath the skin of his neck as he fell to his knees on the floor, continuously crying and shrieking like he was being hacked together with an ax. He then fell completely down to the floor, arms spread behind his back before the same blue mass that had entered him quickly discarded its host through his mouth and his chest.

Only that the latter was now deceased by the looks of things.

Holding her breath, Evelyn bent down towards the glass and got a closer look at the creature. It was lingering on top of the corpse for what seemed like a couple of seconds before it abruptly snapped towards the glass, quickly prompting her to get up and retreat a couple of more steps.

The experiment had failed, and a human had just been killed in the process. It had killed him whilst trying to adapt itself to the body, but for some reason, it was not compatible. If the only sign of it being incompatible was death, then this was not about closing in on the answer through testing.

This was a matter about closing in on the answer through whoever did not die in the process.

Unbeknownst to Evelyn, her fingers were clenching themselves together into a fist, scraping her skin and penetrating through the first layer until blood was shed. This was going to become a deliberate genocide, one by one.

"Dr. March, I need you to examine the next volunteer."

Even with all her inner turmoil, Evelyn refrained from acting out on it. Instead, she crossed her arms over her head and constricted her eyes to a piercing point as she glared silently at the CEO. His indifference towards what had just happened was not subtle at all; even an ignorant person would have noticed it.

Without answering, she tilted her head to the side and looked at the blue symbiote behind the glass. It was still clinging onto it like a spider would climb to a wall, almost as if knowing that its time was limited unless it was able to find another host.

If this was supposed to be the work of God, then were they Abraham or the lamb?

What she did next was not something she had expected from herself.

She shook her head.


	7. Chapter 7 - The Bullet

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom**

* * *

**Chapter 7: The Bullet**

* * *

Dan was worried. In truth, that was the kind of person he was. He frequently worried about people. He worried about his patients, he worried about his family, he worried about Annie. He worried about everyone he knew of, regardless of whether or not they were assigned to his care. It was just the kind of person he was, and he didn't require the status of a doctor in order to be like that.

It was just in his nature.

But this time, he worried about someone who was neither in his care nor solicited it, and someone he imagined would berate him if she knew he was "wasting time" concerning himself about her well-being. It had always been like that, ever since he first entered a verbal conversation with her.

Ever since he had known her back at John Hopkins', she had always been shrewd. Not as much as she was now, however. Back then, she used to have some sense of tenderness, albeit not too much to make it noticeable. It wasn't anything he had ever minded (As long as her source of frustrations had not been him at the time). He had been her senior back then, fascinated by the way her prodigious skills exceeded the rest of them.

However, be that as it may, she was still human to the core. She was still as susceptible to the same kind of vulnerabilities as any other person, which was why Dan experienced a common sense of uncertainty creep up his skin upon acknowledging her absence the following evening.

There was not much to do at such a late hour in the night, as the majority of the patients had been provided with their fair share of medicine and no reports of any accidents had reached his ears. However, considering how Evelyn's shift would start at nine o'clock, which was roughly fifteen minutes ago, Dan sensed something odd in the air. It was an uncommon occurrence, if an occurrence at all, that she would be late. He had tried calling her once, but she did not pick up the phone.

It came as no surprise to anyone who knew Evelyn that she was a workaholic, more so than Dr. John Renfield; their most trusted neurologist. The latter was a disciplined worker who gave everything he had, but even he knew his boundaries. Evelyn did not seem like she did, which was something of concern. Whether it was working late evenings or working too much on short due, there was no indication that she seemed to wish to pause in her work.

So that raised the question: Where was she now?

"Late night, Dan?"

The voice snapped him out of his thoughts, much to his relief. Looking to his side, he spotter Dr. Francis Lambert making his way over to him with the same jovial look in his eyes as always. Francis was one of their main surgeons at the hospital, much like Dan himself, but the former always seemed to find certain things lighter than they genuinely were. It was the primary reason behind Evelyn's apparent dislike towards him, even though he had tried to ask her out for quite a while now.

"Frank," Dan greeted him and reached for his arm, shaking it. Granted, they weren't exactly what one would consider 'friends', but they got along well enough to not glare at each other each time they passed in the hallway. "You know it."

"How's the lady?" Frank queried with a playful wink. "Everything going alright at home?"

Dan nodded and mustered a smile despite how tired he was. "A fine as it can get. How about you, Frank? Any ladies in the waiting?"

"Hah!" The other doctor exclaimed. "As if. I've been trying to ask Dr. March for years now, but I ain't closer to getting her to bed than I am to winning the lottery."

"Well, you know how she is." Dan added with a shrug, finding himself struggling to shape words regarding his female colleague's disdain for courtship. "Never one for things like that. Why not try nurse Campbell? She's nice."

Frank seemed to contemplate on the prospect for a moment before a look of disappointment shrouded his features. "Yeah, but I heard she got the sweets for somebody else, so I'm not going for those who are already taken." The blonde doctor chuckled sheepishly and scratched the back of his head. "Besides, maybe it's good that I stay single for a while. More to take, you know."

"But speaking of Dr. March," The thought struck Dan like a fist to his face. "Have you seen her anywhere? Her shift was supposed to start a couple of minutes ago."

But the other surgeon didn't seem to hold the answers either. "Haven't seen her, either. Maybe she decided to sleep in this time."

But Dan wasn't convinced. He placed a hand under his chin and let out a soft sigh. "I doubt it. She's never late and she'd rather go twenty-four hours without sleep than to sleep in."

His answer caused a sly grin to spread across his colleague's lips with a mischievous flicker in his eyes. "You know her quite a bit, don't you, Dan?"

"She's my friend," Dan said without reluctance. "I've known her for a while."

"How _well_ have you known her, if you don mind me asking?" It was obvious that Frank aimed for more than to ask a couple of inconspicuous questions, and Dan saw this as easy as it would have been to spot an elephant in the room.

Needless to say, he became slightly exasperated with this. "It's not like that," he insisted upon closer inspection at Frank's mischievous grin. "We have never been anything more than friends."

But Frank raised both of his hands in the air, seemingly oblivious to what he was implying himself. "I haven't said anything otherwise," he maintained casually, shaking his head. "I was just asking."

No matter how much he wished to deny it, Frank always had a way of getting under his skin. They had been interns together for a couple of years, and even back then he tended to be a pain to get along with if he was in one of his 'humoristic' moods. One would have imagined that the years being surrounded by death and suffering would have matured him considerably.

But Dan was mistaken. Gravely.

"Maybe she left behind a message or something?" Frank suggested. "Saying she was sick?"

But Dan shook his head. "She wouldn't have skipped even if she _was_ sick." It surprised him how much he spoke of her as if he had known her the entire life. A couple of years couldn't possibly compare to an entire lifetime, but there he stood and came up with facts he imagined that few people would be interested in learning about.

Sensing his worry, Frank sighed, placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and patted him several times. "Calm down, Dan. I'm sure she's fine. She just probably had some business to attend to and she'll be here a little later. She should've said something, sure, but we both know how she is."

Dan kept quiet and allowed a smile to come forth on his lips, but despite his colleague's reassurance, there was a part of him that said that something wasn't right. He had recently heard about the incident involving the Rodriguez's, how someone had anonymously tipped the police about the domestic dispute that was going on. Though he had not admitted it to her at the time, he had his suspicions regarding her involvement.

Could she have been kidnapped? Seemed unlikely, but Mr. Rodriguez was not someone who had few contacts at his disposal. Perhaps her involvement had reached Mr. Rodriguez's and had, therefore, made her become the target of some mafia gang? Maybe she was being held hostage with a gun aimed at her forehead, being threatened and whatnot?

The prospect of Evelyn being tied and begging for her life did not strike him as plausible. If anything, she would be staring her captors dead in the eyes and deduce all kinds of things about them; their backgrounds, current allergies or illnesses, their posture, their physical vulnerabilities. No tears would be shed and no pleas for her life would be made.

That sounded more like her.

"Yeah," he said and tried to shake off his nervousness, smiling to keep any suspicions from rolling off of Frank's shoulders. "You're probably right."

"See?" Frank said with a victorious grin and patted him once again on the back. "Told you it would be fine. Now," He stepped back and waved up his files. "I gotta go finish some work. Say hey to Annie from me, alright?" Then he waved goodbye and disappeared into the hallway, leaving Dan there alone in his own thoughts.

Maybe he was simply overthinking things. He tended to do that on multiple occasions, even when it was strictly unnecessary. Even Annie noted it at times, which often made both of them laugh. Glancing at the clock, he came to the conclusion that it was probably nothing. Still, it couldn't hurt…

He pulled out his phone and dialed Annie's room, pulling it close to his ear as he heard it start to ring.

A couple of seconds passed before she picked up, and her voice filled him with delight.

"_Hey, Dan."_ She greeted him.

"Hey, Annie. How're things at home?"

"_They've been great since the last hour you've been away," _she answered sarcastically, laughing in the background.

"That's good," he responded. "But Annie?"

"_Yeah?"_

"I need to ask you a favor."

* * *

The whole room seemed to stop as she did this, their eyes were all on her as her act of defiance reached their notice. Evelyn was not oblivious towards their undivided attention, but she could care less about their opinions. Instead, her eyes remained firmly placed on Mr. Drake, whose eyes were by now wide with shock and disbelief. She did not mirror his reaction, but contradicted it by a severe amount.

"Dr. March," Mr. Drake asked, voice radiating with a mixture of uncertainty and blind hope. "Can you inspect the next volunt–"

"I will not cooperate with this," was her response, which ultimately succeeded in silencing the CEO where he stood. Evelyn easily held her stance, but she did not lower her guard under any circumstances. "If you are to continue, you should fail and _learn_, Mr. Drake."

She cast a glance upon the corpse of Mr. Burton, along with the blue symbiote that was currently clinging onto the glass. Its movements ceased to stay vigorous, as it was undoubtedly losing strength upon being exposed to an oxygen-filled environment.

"The symbiote was evidently incompatible with the volunteer," she elaborated without taking her eyes off of it. It seemed to sense her presence, plausibly desperate for another host. "First you have to evaluate what quality of Mr. Burton was incompatible with the entity. Proceeding spontaneously would be most inconvenient."

Her answer seemed to displease Mr. Drake terribly, even if it wasn't visible to the naked eye. There was no mistaking it that her defiance had caught him by surprise, and that in its own way was highly inconvenient.

However, instead of objecting, Mr. Drake breathed through his nose in frustration. "Dr. Skirth," he ordered without looking at her. "inspect the volunteer's vitals. Which ones were the first to drop upon contact?"

Upon acknowledging the order, Dr. Skirth scurried over to the operating table and looked at the screen. Meanwhile, Mr. Drake's cold gaze was aimed at the physician who had dared to stand against him with her words. Likewise, Evelyn's gaze wasn't exactly the warmest either, but she prevailed in keeping her emotions in check. It was something the CEO evidently lacked. He was too readable, even when he didn't intend to be _(disappointed. frustrated. irked)._

"His temperature instantly went down upon contact," Dr. Skirth informed them, breaking the thin barriers which stood between the CEO and the physician. "His heart rate increased, and his pulse quickened. The contact lasted upon thirty-six seconds before his vitals started going down. No signs of any complications in the midst of the interaction."

"See, Dr. March?" Mr. Drake raised his arms on each side, prideful over his accomplishment. "There are no mistakes with the hosts. It's the symbiotes that deem them compatible or not. It's simply up to chance."

"Nothing is ever up to chance, Mr. Drake," Evelyn contradicted coldly, far from impressed with his display. "There exists no such thing as fate, and few things are caused by chance. It's the factors behind the compatibility that deems everything."

Upon opening her mouth again, she witnessed the symbiote inside the cell suddenly jerk away from the front, twisting with what could only be described as pain. It was in pain. Deprived of a suitable host and left to suffer in an oxygen-filled environment.

Mr. Drake and the other scientists seemed to notice as well, and measures were immediately taken in order to keep it from suffering any further.

"I suggest that you look after your specimen, Mr. Drake," Evelyn said chilly and turned her focus back to him. "For whatever it is worth, I assume that it would be preferable for it to remain alive. Correct me if I'm mistaken."

The glare Mr. Drake proceeded to send her could have forced half of the people in the room to crawl in the floor in submission. It was not an act she felt inclined to perform. His anger towards her was understandable, but nonetheless trivial. It was like a child throwing a tantrum because its parent had refused it privileges that it felt entitled towards.

As Mr. Drake scoffed before walking away to make sure that the scientists performed the proper procedures in order to tempt the symbiote back to the capsule it had previously resided in, Evelyn cast a glance towards Dr. Skirth; an indecipherable expression on her face.

Dr. Skirth flinched upon noticing that she had come to the younger doctor's attention, eyes meeting the floor out of fear of looking her straight in the eyes. She didn't know why, but there was something truly intimidating in the physician's glare that could have rivaled the eyes of the CEO. Something almost _inhuman_.

There was a long wave of silence before anything was said afterward, and the words that reached the ecologist's ears were far from the kind she wished to hear.

"Dr. Skirth, you truly are different from your sister."

Those words somehow managed to affect the ecologist in ways that no one had before. She was a sensitive individual in the midst of this chaos, that much was certain, but nothing had pierced her chest as much as those words had. Neither the prospect of dead people or sacrificing the human race did, which was something that struck her as impossible.

Evelyn's eyes flickered back over to the corpse in the cell, noting the way it was void of life. Its position was curled as though it had suffered a stroke, Mr. Burton's eyes were completely white, his pupils had fallen to the back of his skull, and there was a darkened patch upon his chest which came from when the symbiote had discarded him.

Sacrifices…. Were these sacrifices? Even if her face would not allow it to be shown, she sensed a spark of anger rise within her chest like a tumor. She would not cooperate with this, not when there were other – more certain ways – to save human lives.

"You are to finish this as you see fit," she said. "but I don't wish to cooperate any further, Mr. Drake." Her answer was absolute and distinctively severe. Her earlier reply did not change simply because of her suggestions regarding the procedure, but that meant by no means that she wished to be present to watch it through. Whatever happened was on their hands, not hers.

"_Let me ask you this, Ms. March," Dr. Janine Skirth had asked her on the day of her graduation. "If you had to sacrifice few to save many, would you do it?"_

"_Of course," Her answer had been just as sharp and as genuine._

But to volunteer slaughter people with no other reason than to test the boundaries of an extraterrestrial organism, that went beyond sacrifice.

That was genocide.

And she would not take part in it.

_Click._

But the sound of a gun being pulled behind her made it clear that her answer did not sit well with Mr. Drake. Several gasps grew audible and the researchers that had been standing the closest to her were quick to take a couple of steps away from where she stood. Dr. Skirth's fearful expression reached Evelyn's eyes and concluded her suspicions.

Glancing slowly over her shoulder, Evelyn spotted the barrel of a gun in her face _(Beretta? Colt?)_, and a gloved hand near the trigger. A bald man was the perpetrator behind her potential murder, Caucasian, and with traces of a beard in sight.

Despite her wish to remain collected in a dire situation such as this, Evelyn knew that the chances of the gun being there for decoration were low. On a few occasions had she been threatened in similar manners like this, but all of them had been equally alarming. In less than a second, the gun could fire and hit her in the cranium.

"I'm sincerely sorry, Dr. March," Mr. Drake let out a _tsk_ and stepped beside the gunman, his face neutral with displeasure. "But surely you understand that this was not a two-way ticket, right? We can't let you walk now that you've seen the work we're about to finish. People would not understand it, not in the way you would."

Evelyn responded by narrowing her eyes at the barrel, the prospect of a bullet erupting growing stronger and stronger by the second. "Killing me would be inconvenient. Blood is quite difficult to clean."

A laugh inconspicuously left the gunman as he heard this, eyes crinkling and lips parting until a grin grew. "There are more things to worry about than cleaning, missy. It would not take long at all."

Evelyn proceeded to observe the gunman's features, everything from his stance to his external appearance. His stance indicated that he was ex-military; trained in firearms; right-handed; old battle wound keeping him from putting full force on his right arm as he lifted the gun. Hundred-and-seventy pounds; six-foot tall; evidence of high-protein diet. Fighting him directly would not be an option, and trying to evade the bullet would not be much of a likeability either.

But as she weighed her options, Mr. Drake took a step forward and raised both of his arms on each side. "Dr. March, there are two ways this can go." He explained fictitiously, complete control over his movements. "Either you can work with us and help us save this world like a _hero_," Then he gestured to the gunman with a flick of his head. "Or I can have Treece personally escort you back."

**A hero?**

_Her brother stood there with his knees to the ground, crimson stains on the yellow shirt he had worn that day. His eyes were wide with shock – filled with tears to the brink – and his hands were held up in front of him as though he was trying to debunk whether this was true or just some morbid dream he was having. _

_In front of him laid a deceased kitten, or what used to be one. Its crushed state had left it indistinguishable from a mass of raw meat that was to be sold in a factory someplace. Its fur was tainted with the same red that covered her brother, and its internal organs laid scattered on the ground, misplaced and in unrecognizable conditions. _

_Washing the pavement where the scene had taken the place – and washing the blood off her brother's clothes – had been difficult, to say the least. Their mother had wanted to scold her brother for his recklessness, but the trauma she noticed was present in her son's eyes made her silence herself out of humility._

Acting like heroes rarely got you anywhere except surrounded by the bodies and the blood of those you were unable to save. She knew that as well as any other 'hero', even if she lacked the cape.

However, as Evelyn stared into the barrel held up in front of her, she knew that her options were gravely limited _(deny the offer and be killed? accept the offer and be spared?)_

However, she would not allow herself to get killed from her own pride. Most people with too much pride to regard the circumstances often imagined that dying like heroes would be meaningful, but that was as far from the truth as it could get. Dying did not make you a hero by a long shot. Dying like a martyr meant that you were too stubborn to live longer and that you would allow your beliefs to deem your end.

She was not about to let that happen.

Breathing through her nose, she closed her eyes and turned around, opening them again to direct her focus to Dr. Skirth, who had been holding her breath ever since the display of a gun first entered view.

"Dr. Skirth, may I request that you escort me to the next volunteer for an examination?"

She was not oblivious towards the grin that slid up Mr. Drake's lips.

But she _was_ oblivious to the phone in her pocket, one that currently contained one missed phone-call from Dr. Lewis.


	8. Chapter 8 - The Prey

**Disclaimer: I do now own Venom**

* * *

**Chapter 8: The Prey**

* * *

If something was for certain, it was that she was beyond late for her shift by now. Several hours and several examinations later, Evelyn had yet to return home, although she doubted that could easily be done even if she was granted the time. With the prospect of a gun being held to her forehead, she thought killing her would be no difficult act at all, albeit slightly problematic on their part. If Mr. Drake really wished to keep her within the project's protocol, compromises would have to be established. Evelyn knew from experience that arrangements made it easier to keep someone in line than force did.

The majority of the test subjects had all perished in the experiments, but few had surprisingly managed to endure the contact and remained stable in confinement. However, none of them showed signs of being completely functioning.

By now, the yellow and the blue symbiotes had both managed to stabilize themselves within two hosts; Harry Beckley; Caucasian; thirty-six years; methamphetamine addict. And Jacob Markson; African-American; forty-one years; type-two diabetic. They had both been contained in separate cells and were now being kept under constant surveillance. It was a miracle; both a scientific and a medical one. Evelyn could hardly express her astonishment as she watched the process with successful results. However, none were are prideful as Mr. Drake in that sense.

All that remained now was to find a stable host for the mercury-colored symbiote, the most docile one she had observed thus far. Upon close inspection of it, she discovered that it had a tendency to find loud noises unbearable. Actually, all of them were unable to stand them. She had become informed of this beforehand by the researchers, yet it produced more questions than answers. As she kneeled in front of the black symbiote outside the containment, there was one noticeable attribute that did not escape her.

Desperation.

* * *

"Name?"

"M-Maria Nordstrom."

"Age?"

"Thirty-eight."

The woman was a nobody and homeless, making her the ideal candidate for this sort of scheme. Someone who wouldn't be missed by anyone and someone who could easily disappear from the face of the earth with little to no alarm. Evelyn scrutinized the woman's external appearance as she wrote down the answers she received. Heavy bags under her eyes_ (sleep deprivation? Drug addiction? Alcohol withdrawal)_, uncut and dirtied nails, frail and trembling fingers _(lack of proper sustenance? Anemic?)._

As she followed the same examination with the woman as she had with the other volunteers, Evelyn came to notice several cuts that went across the woman's wrists. Her initial thoughts were mental disorders or problems regarding depression, but then she noticed that those scars were not deliberate; they were not precise enough, nor exact to be self-inflicted. She had seen numerous of patients with scars on their wrists, both old and recent, but these were not of the same kind.

But she did not press the issue further; it wasn't something that involved her, nor interfered with the examination. As long as the woman was currently in a stable condition, that was all that mattered.

While she was finishing the remainder of the file, Evelyn's eyes flickered up and she noticed that the woman was looking alarmed about something. Ms. Nordstrom's eyes consistently wavered over to the exit of the examination room, as if she was expecting someone to enter through it.

"Nobody will arrive," Evelyn said with the intent of decreasing her worry. It would not bode well if Ms. Nordstrom was anxious during the exam, as it could interfere with the results. "I will inform the guards once we are finished."

"I know," Ms. Nordstrom responded, not looking away from the door. "I was just wondering if my ex-husband was standing outside the door."

"Only the personnel are allowed inside," Evelyn informed her, casting a glance over at the door. As anticipated, there stood no one there, not even the silhouette of Dr. Skirth was visible through the disoriented glass. It was at that point that she began to question Ms. Nordstrom's mental capabilities _(paranoiac? schizophrenic? Obsessive Compulsion Disorder)_. Although she knew little of the psychological spectrum, it had been one of the subjects she had read about at John Hopkins' while studying. Considering how little it interested her back then and now, she knew only of the basic symptoms.

All of which Ms. Nordstrom was currently displaying.

"Maybe he has decided to take me back?" Ms. Nordstrom said, a hopeful gaze in her eyes that struck Evelyn as unfathomable. "Maybe he will let me see Lily again?"

"I can say with certainty that your ex-husband is not here," Evelyn responded calmly, getting up to her feet with the notepad tucked under her arm. "Let us proceed."

"Where are we going?" Ms. Nordstrom asked as she jumped down from the seat, eager to get out of there. "Am I going to get paid now?"

"You're not." Evelyn answered curtly.

Ms. Nordstrom did a double-take, eyes wide in disbelief as her mind processed these words. "They said I would get paid for this."

"You will," the doctor answered, but not before casting a look up at the woman with a distinctive sharp angle. "_If_ you survive the procedure."

Silence rang as her words slipped her tongue, making Evelyn acknowledge her mistake at once. Her pen abruptly stopped on the paper, making the dot she just created resemble more of a comma than anything, and she silently held her breath and awaited the consequence of her actions.

It came in the form of a significantly paled woman, who seemed as though she had just been told that she had less than a few hours left to live. Evelyn knew this because she had undergone the procedure numerous times, and few occasions proved themselves differentiated from the common ones; pure fear, pale faces, and denial. What happened next, however, was not amongst one of the most anticipated reactions.

"'If I survive'?" The woman asked, voice quivering and fingers curling. "W-What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that the procedure you signed up for is a potentially fatal one," the doctor informed her callously. "They did not inform you because they feared that you would refrain from signing the papers if you knew the truth behind their experiments." Lies, honesty, there were truly no differences between the two; 'two sides of a single coin', as she had heard before. What might prove entertaining for her would undoubtedly become inconvenient for the Foundation, though amusement was not her aim at the moment.

But as Evelyn got up to her feet and prepared to reach for the door, a pair of feeble hands grasped the front of her coat and held her in place. Ms. Nordstrom was staring straight at her with blank, hollow eyes that were filled with what could only be concluded as fear.

"W-W-What is it I'm meant to do?" she asked, voice contorting between demanding and in severe hysteria. "S-Something I might not survive?" As each word progressed from her lips, the grip around Evelyn tightened. It may not have been much for a malnourished and sleep-deprived woman like Ms. Nordstrom, but it was regardless persistent.

Evelyn wrapped her hands around the woman's wrists. "Ma'am, I will have to ask you to let go of me."

"_No_! Tell me what this is about first!"

This was not the first time a patient of hers had gotten physical, and she doubted it would be the last. At one point, the husband of a woman who had been diagnosed with incurable breast cancer had practically slammed Evelyn in the wall and demanded that she do something about it. Security had been called and eventually handled the situation, but not before the husband had efficiently managed to inflict her with several abrasion; one which left a lingering cut on the edge of her right eyebrow. If she looked in the mirror, Evelyn could still spot the scar there, albeit faintly. A few stitches were acquired, but nothing significant.

Fortunately, on her part, Ms. Nordstrom did not possess even half the necessary strength in order to inflict lingering injuries upon the doctor's physicality. Even so, she remained persistent in her goal to achieve the answer she was searching for, and a part of Evelyn saluted her determination.

"The experiment may cost you your life," Evelyn said after a moment of deliberate silence, taking note of the paleness that was increasing upon the woman's features. "You will be exposed to an extraterrestrial lifeform that can either improve your physique or drain you of life."

It did not strike her as a difficult predicament to tell Ms. Nordstrom the truth, though she carefully weighed the potential consequences of her surprisingly reckless actions. She had not provided the same privileges to the other patients who participated in the experiment, but she decided that now was not the time for sentiment (or lack thereof). So many had already been deemed deceased from the procedures, and she had been there to watch them die.

Seven people. Seven people had been killed, and all of them had looked her straight in the eyes from the cells they had been as they were exposed to the symbiotes. All of them begged her, pleaded of her to let them out of there, but Evelyn knew that any act of transgression would most likely result with a bullet between her eyes.

Therefore, she had withheld her reactions, which was something neither Mr. Drake nor Dr. Skirth seemed capable of, as well as few of the other researchers as well. There had been an amalgamation of shock, surprise, disgust, and fascination with the rest of the scientists (if she had managed to successfully read them), but none proved themselves willing to give up their occupations for the sake of human compassion.

Compassion was a concept she made sure would not interfere with work, no matter the circumstances. Evelyn had lost count over how many times her colleagues would cast her revolted glares whenever they witnessed her act of stone-cold professionalism in the face of sentiment. If a mother cried for the loss of her child, she could not offer her consoles in the ways they internally expected from her. All she could provide was the truth or nothing at all; there were no in-betweens. She was not above being deceitful either if the circumstances called for it, but these circumstances were different.

As the news spewed out of her mouth with such a direct approach, Ms. Nordstrom's mouth twisted and her grip around the doctor's coat tightened to an unimaginable point. It surprised even Evelyn that she was capable of such vigorousness.

Ms. Nordstrom began to shake her, pushing her back and forth to where Evelyn felt like she was on the verge of losing her balance for a second. "Extraterrestrial? Y-You mean a-aliens?" Ms. Nordstrom uttered meekly, yet her grip never ceased. Her fingers were trembling, either due to the pressure or the terror that was scourging through her nerves, her eyes were dilated_,_ and her breathing was increasing as though she was experiencing a mental breakdown_ (sweaty palms. unstable nerves. paleness.)_

Evelyn nodded solemnly. "Yes, if you would prefer that term."

Then almost at once, Ms. Nordstrom was unable to contain her fear any longer. With as much strength as she could muster, she pulled at Evelyn's coat and harshly pulled her to the side, threatening to throw her to the floor had the doctor been unable to regain her stance in time. She quickly got to her feet again turned around, watching the patient begin to throw everything around her to the floor like she was having a manic episode.

"_I don't want to die_!" she let out a hollering shriek as she flipped the mattress on the bed over and started to tear open the pillows, allowing the feathers to scatter around. "_I WANT TO SEE MY DAUGHTER AGAIN! I WANT LILY!"_ There was no use arguing with her at that point. It was clear that the patient was emotionally unstable, but whether drugs or medication was a contributing factor remained uncertain.

Evelyn readjusted the collar of her coat before she attempted to verbalize something, but did not get far before the doors slammed open and Treece stepped inside, gun at his disposal along with two guards besides that was doubtlessly any less experienced than him when it came to containing people who were to their inconvenience.

"Dr. March," he greeted her factiously with a smirk as his eyes trailed over to the frantic Ms. Nordstrom. "I see that the examination is going well."

Evelyn had to physically bite her tongue in order to keep a frown from appearing. However, she successfully managed to keep any internal thoughts from becoming visible and she stuffed her notepad under her arm. At this point, Ms. Nordstrom had curled in a fetus-position on the floor with the feathers promptly scattered around her. She was murmuring things that made no comprehensible sense.

"She's unfit for the experiment," The doctor said with a rather curt nod to Ms. Nordstrom's way. "I recommend sending her back."

If this was her attempt at committing something "humane" for once, as Dr. Lewis liked to call it, Evelyn concluded with certainty that it was far from the ideal way for her to do it. Numerous people had already been killed right in front of her, yet she was deciding to spare an old homeless woman for no reason other than to feel better about herself. It felt ... pitiful, considering the situation, but a part of her being felt relief scourge through her at the prospect of sparing at least one person from the almost inevitable fate of death.

But the look Treece sent her way verified that it was least likely to happen. He shook his head in patronizing manners, making obnoxious _tsk tsk _sounds as he did so, then carefully took a step in Evelyn's direction. The room was not large in hindsight so that one step he took to put him a significant few inches closer towards her. In fact, he was already towering over her with a lecherous glee in his eyes.

"Sorry, Doc." He said and reached his hand forth, pulling a few strands of her dark hair between his thumb and index finger. The feeling of him standing so close was nauseous on a medical level, even though she would never admit that aloud. "But Mr. Drake says that's not an option. Once a volunteer signs the contract, they're pretty much obligated to remain."

Evelyn wanted to scoff, but kept herself in check. Right now was not the time to become aggressive, which was a trait she seldom displayed. "I'm currently under the impression that they are unaware of what they sign under, Treece," she informed him, fingers unconsciously tightening around the fabric of her coat for each time she felt him gently tug at her hair strands. Physical contact, if it could be deemed as such, was something she refrained from engaging unless she could avoid it, much less with someone like Treece.

He scoffed at her words as though they were trivial, which they undoubtedly were from his perspective. His eyes trailed over to Ms. Nordstrom again and his expressions didn't change a bit. However, as he flicked his fingers to the guards, their objective had become clear. The guards nodded affirmatively and marched over to the curled-up lady on the floor, grabbing one arm each and harshly lifting her off the floor. There came a wide variety of curses from her as they lackadaisically escorted her out of the room, and Evelyn could only watch as the scene unfolded in front of her until they disappeared out the door.

Treece then turned his focus back onto her again, teeth displayed through a crooked grin. "A pretty girl such as you should know that Mr. Drake is a hardworking person, Doc. He doesn't let much get in the way of his business, much less the wailing of an old hag." As he said this, the hand that had been holding strands of her hair trailed to her shoulder and down her arm. "Surely you know that what you signed up for when–"

"I did not sign any papers on my way here, Treece," the doctor told him, apparently indifferent towards his touching. "I imagined that the procedure would not last this long and that I would be able to return in time for my shift. Unfortunately," her eyes glared up at him as the last word rolled off her tongue, and a vague hint of fear overcame the security guard's features as his mind processed that look she gave him. "That seems _not_ to be the case now."

The look of shock on the security guard's face was unmistakable, along with irritation, bitterness, and the temptation to somehow retaliate. But Evelyn held her ground without struggle and without looking away from him, finding an odd satisfaction within her upon watching him twist between the alternatives of striking her or keeping his composure.

He ultimately chose the latter, but not without reluctance being present.

"Listen here, Doc," he growled bitterly. "Mr. Drake might have a soft spot for you, but don't think that I'll let you walk all high and mighty around the place. It would be really easy for your death to look like an accident, with those freaks behind the glass. Maybe one of them was accidentally let out or somehow escaped while you were close by. That'd be possible, wouldn't it?"

This caused Evelyn to merely raise an eyebrow. Death-threats were such tedious commitments that it was surprising that she did verbalize her apathy towards him. Patients had made similar threats in the past if she refused (or was unable) to somehow rid them of their afflictions, but this was different. This man was neither a patient nor someone of concern for her, but she was well aware of the gun that was strapped to the side of his pants.

"I would not be concerned about that, Mr. Treece," She contradicted him with a shrug. "Mr. Drake is sure to keep them well-contained enough, so letting them loose with no designated host would surely cause them to perish. It would be problematic if that was to occur by your hands."

Treece did not seem affected by this. "And who do you think he will believe the most?" he asked. "His trusted Head of Security or a doctor with ambiguous morals?"

"Whichever is the most truthful, I would assume," Unbeknownst to her, a smirk grew on her lips. "And someone who knows what measures to take in order to survive. Letting out an extraterrestrial lifeform does not seem to fit into that category, so I imagine that would say more about you than it would about me."

It was easy to see that anger was radiating from him, even though he tried to mask it with a smirk. People were easy to read, even when they thought they weren't. As he opened his mouth to say something, the sound of the door being opened caught both of their attention and kept things from escalating beyond a verbal point. Evelyn took the opportunity to take a step to the side, allowing the distance between her and the security guard to grow.

Dr. Skirth stepped inside. "We are beginning the procedure shortly. Mr. Drake requires your presence, Dr. March."

Evelyn nodded. "I'll be there."

As Dr. Skirth left and Evelyn prepared to leave as well with the notepad tightly in her grip, she felt something grip her arm just as she reached for the door handle.

"I'd be careful if I were you, doc," Treece said slowly, his eyes fixated on her. "It will only be a matter of time before Mr. Drake deems you expendable as well."

His words would have made anyone feel chills run up and down their spines, but Evelyn did not. Instead, she merely offered the security guard a ghost of a side-glance.

"Everyone is expendable, Mr. Treece."


	9. Chapter 9 - The Cravings

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom**

**Updated: 03/12/19 **

**A/N: Kudos to Lana Del Fae for making me aware of Maria's designation, and for all of her lovely comments. That goes generally to everyone who have been kind enough to spend some of their time answering to this story. It truly means a lot to me and words cannot express my gratitude.**

* * *

**Chapter 9: The Cravings**

* * *

It was an excruciating procedure, from what she could gather from Ms. Nordstrom's reaction. Her face twisted into all sorts of shapes as the black symbiote merged itself with her being, everything from unbearable agony to subservience. The creature was not was vigorous as its brethren had been, but that did not make up for its unmistakable power.

Surprisingly enough, Ms. Nordstrom had survived. It could not have been easy to manage, but her determination to live surpassed an unreachable point. Evelyn silently applauded the woman's will to survive, yet a part of her could not help but pity her for her affliction. It was one of the few sentiments she could understand in terms of concept: _pity_. It struck her as far more comprehensible than the likes of empathy ever did.

As soon as Ms. Nordstrom's vitals stabilized, and she was separated into an excluded cell, much like Mr. Beckley and Mr. Markson had been prior, Evelyn found herself standing in front of the cell where the unfortunate woman was, by then, crawled up in a fetus-position once more, murmuring incomprehensible words which reached no one's ears. Asking her would be of no use, Evelyn deemed it, but it would perhaps satiate the curiosity she felt sparking up within her.

Evelyn tapped on the glass-wall, aiming to reach Ms. Nordstrom's attention. "Ms. Nordstrom, may I inquire what it is you are saying?" she asked, tapping a few more times when she witnessed that the woman on the other side did little to respond. When no words were heard, Evelyn and figured out that it would be for the best to leave the situation as it was.

But as she turned around, intending to leave the premises and seek out Dr. Skirth to learn of the current situation now that all of the symbiotes had gained new hosts, the sound of something banging on the glass behind her caused the doctor to flinch in alarm. She quickly took a step back and turned back to the glass, seeing Ms. Nordstrom pressed tightly up against the glass with her palms pushed as far into it as possible. Her face was vivid, eyes nearly bulging out of her skull and pupils dilated and pointed to the floor. _"It speaks to me,"_ she uttered almost incoherently, shoulders shaking rapidly. _"It's speaking to me right now."_

Her words made no sense, but Evelyn readjusted the collar of her lab-coat and decided that she best course of action would be to indulge the woman in her apparent state of hysteria. "What's speaking to you, Ms. Nordstrom?" she inquired, taking a step closer towards the glass. Despite her increase in wariness, Evelyn was determined not to lose her aptitude for composure. Though it had been threatened on numerous occasions over the course of merely a few hours, she was fortunate to still have it intact.

Upon hearing her voice, Ms. Nordstrom's eyes were directed to the doctor and her bottom lip – which had previously been trembling uncontrollably at the same pace as her shoulders – began to speak again.

"_It's hungry. Always hungry."_ Ms. Nordstrom whispered. _"It wants to eat something, __**anything**__."_

This caused Evelyn's mind to buzzle with various questions, amongst them being "what's hungry?" A part of her assumed that Ms. Nordstrom's mental capacities had been reduced to the point where she referred to herself in third-person. _Illeism_ was a term she had heard before, though it never struck her as something she would require remembering. Yet still, she did.

"You require sustenance?" Evelyn asked, indulging in her curiosity. What happened next, however, did little to satiate it.

Instead of answering, Ms. Nordstrom began to violently bang her head against the glass. Evelyn withdrew a step from the glass, shocked by this sudden change of behavior. Her first reaction was to summon security and have them handle the situation as to keep the patient from inflicting herself with various injuries, but she stopped as she heard Ms. Nordstrom begin to speak again.

"_IT'S HUNGRY!"_ she howled. _"IT WANT'S FOOD! NOW!"_

"I'll have food assigned to you," Evelyn said in an attempt to defuse the situation from escalating. "But please refrain from inflicting self-harm."

"_NO! I will not eat her! That's disgusting!"_

There was a moment of silence, particularly from the doctor's side of the wall. Ms. Nordstrom's arms were both planted on the glass, but her head hung low – shaking consistently. Evelyn opened her mouth to ask something, more puzzled than anything, but her answer did not reach her tongue before Ms. Nordstrom proceeded to speak again. Not to her, however.

"_I don't care if you're hungry! You're not making me eat another human being!"_

Evelyn blinked, curious whether or not she had heard correctly. "Eat…. Another human being?"

Psychological expertise or otherwise, Evelyn doubted that cannibalistic urges could be deemed as a side-effect of being exposed to alien lifeforms. Of course, she had no way of knowing for certain, considering how no one had attempted similar experiments prior. Mengele's experiments were closely related, but that did not make the circumstances any less sinister.

"Ms. Nordstrom, may I inquire what it is that is speaking to you at this current moment?" she asked.

"_It's really hungry, right now, and it keeps telling me to get something to eat."_

"_It_?" Considering the circumstances, it would be appropriate to make references to an old science fiction movie, but it was uncalled for. "What, exactly, is _It_?"

Ms. Nordstrom vigorously shook her head, agitated. _"It just wants something to eat, or it threatens to eat me. Can you get It something to eat?"_ But as soon as she said this, the woman began to cry, shaking her head even more than before. _"No! Don't eat my brain! I don't wish to lose it!"_

_(Mental instability? Heightened Schizophrenia? General Delusions)_. Evelyn took note of the symptoms that were presented in front of her as she began to think about a way to defuse the situation. "I will have food assigned to your cell shortl–"

"_Heads."_

She looked up. "Pardon?"

"_It wants to eat heads. Something about … phene… thyli … something?"_

After some contemplation, those few letters made sense to her. "Phenethylamine?"

"_Y-Yes, that's what It said. What is it?"_

"Phenethylamine is an organic compound is found within the human's nervous system, acting as a stimulant. It's produced naturally by the human brain and contributes to a wide variety of alignments. It's typically used as an antidepressant selegiline. However, consuming the substance –"

"_Do you know how to get me some?" _Ms. Nordstrom briefly interrupted her from the other side, a pleading in her eyes. _"It really wants some now. Is there any way for It to get some without … eating any brains?"_

For a moment, Evelyn paused, unsure about what to do. She could prescribe some medication if that was the issue, but she would not go that far. If it was the substance itself the patient requested, and not medication, then there were perhaps other ways to settle the situation. Medication could have inconvenient effects on the symbiote.

She placed a finger beneath her chin, contemplatively, and weighed her alternatives. It did take her a moment, but eventually, the answer reached her through the most unfathomable way.

"Chocolate." The word left her lips sooner than she could process. "Perhaps chocolate would satiate the cravings? It contains the substance to a moderate amount."

"_Y-Yes,"_ Ms. Nordstrom verified, nodding affirmatively. _"It says that it w-w-will s-suffice."_

"Could you perhaps answer me now, Ms. Nordstrom?" Evelyn asked. "What is speaking to you?" Though the thoughts of some kind of mental illness did not surpass her range, Evelyn still found herself curious to find the answer.

But Ms. Nordstrom shook her head. _"Not 'what', but '__**who**__'."_

"'_Who'_?"

"_It… __**They**__… She…. Calls them- It…. Itself __**Venom**__."_ As Ms. Nordstrom uttered the designation aloud, her exterior sufferings seemed to decline. She was no longer trembling as much as she used to, nor did she appear particularly distressed. It seemed as if invoking the name of her troubles were relieving her of them simultaneously.

"Venom," Evelyn repeated. "That's what It is calling itself?"

**Bang!**

She recoiled in surprise as Ms. Nordstrom slammed her fist against the glass, a most rageful look in her eyes. _"Not '__**It'**__, but '__**Them'**__!"_

The puzzled look that once was featured on Evelyn's countenance was replaced with deliberation. This entity that Ms. Nordstrom was referring to seemed more sentient than she could anticipate. Was this the symbiote's doing, or merely a dislocated mind? The latter seemed the more plausible alternative, yet despite her scrutinizing mindset, Evelyn could not help but ponder on the prospect of the alien inhibiting a more … complex mind of its own.

She sighed and turned her back away from the glass. "I will see if I am able to retrieve some chocolate. If not, I will look for a substitute instead."

* * *

"Mr. Drake, I acquire chocolate for Ms. Maria Nordstrom."

A quirked eyebrow, tilted head, and a look of disbelief were all present in the faces of Dr. Skirth, Mr. Drake, Treece respectively. With her notepad still in grip and sharp angle in her eyes, Evelyn made sure to give every indication that she was, by no means, joking (which was something she seldom engaged in anyhow).

A brief second of silence was broken by the sound of laugher. Everyone in the room turned their heads around to face Treece, who was by then covering his face in an attempt to muffle his chortles. He failed, evidently, but it did little to amuse his colleagues. Evelyn, in particular, saw no reason behind his entertainment, but she knew better than to question the sanity of a man who was hired to kill on a daily (undoubtedly).

"W-What the fuck do you –"

"Treece, I will not ask you again. Watch your language." Mr. Drake interrupted him, a stern look on him which made it easy to notice that he was not a man fond of crude language.

His Head of Security inclined his head towards him to signify his apologies before he turned his head to the oncologist, looking as jovial as ever before. "Are you asking about chocolate? Seriously?"

"I require it for the research," Evelyn answered bluntly, determined not to satiate his amusement despite her intolerance towards frivolous manners. She would applaud her ability to maintain her professionalism despite the circumstances if she could. "Ms. Nordstrom has requested phenethylamine. An odd one, but it may provide us with results regarding the patients' physical states subsequently after establishing stable contact with the symbiotes."

"Isn't your job to say whether or not they have Lupus or something, doc? 'It's never Lupus', though, is it?" Treece inquired mockingly, an insult that did not surpass her. However, Evelyn elected to ignore his childishness and turned her attention back to Mr. Drake.

"Ms. Nordstrom states that the symbiote personally requests the chemical, that it speaks to her through some kind of neurologic link." Saying it aloud sounded ludicrous, but there was no easier way for her to make it clear. Had she been younger and more open-minded, she might have been more open towards the prospect of an alien making contact through telepathic means, but this would have to suffice.

But before Mr. Drake could respond, Dr. Skirth beat him to it. "It personally requests it?" Her voice was torn between disbelief and curiosity. "You mean that it – the _symbiote_ – talks through her? How?"

"I'm not certain, but I would seem appropriate to satisfy its cravings. It could have similar results with the other patients as well." These were all mere speculations, and though it was in her nature to scrutinize uncertainties such as these, Evelyn deemed that this was an appropriate moment to test certain boundaries.

"How would chocolate be able to satisfy It?" Mr. Drake asked, evidently taking the situation more seriously than Treece did. "Why chocolate?"

"Chocolate contains phenethylamine, which is a chemical substance that affects the mood of a patient, as well as their overall physical performance," Evelyn explained in detail, arms crossed over her chest. "However, taking phenethylamine prescribed as medication may affect the patient in problematic ways, so taking moderate amounts through substances such as chocolate would be preferable if we wish to take precautions."

The sooner she could get this over with, the sooner she imagined she could return home. She doubted that the Foundation would simply let her leave, but if compromises could be made, it was a starting point. "I will note any results and take tests if required, but all I ask in return is that I will be allowed to take my temporary leave afterward." She stared straight into the CEO's eyes as she said this, gravely serious. "Will that suffice?"

An unreadable look befell the CEO's countenance, one Evelyn could not conclude with certainty. However, a smile soon spread across his lips, a recognizable one. "You did not anticipate that we would keep you hostage here like a prisoner, Dr. March?"

"A gun to the head usually indicates otherwise," Evelyn pointed out, dead-serious.

"We had to take precautions, you surely understand that?" His careless nature was something that surpassed her. "We don't want to dispose of you now that you've proven your competence. We'd lose more than we'd gain. Not everyone is expendable, and those few who aren't are worth keeping onto, don't you agree?"

It was tempting to laugh at his statement, that much was for certain. On the contrary, everyone was expendable, and anyone could be disposed of. A bullet to the cranium or the precise cut to one's vital points may be all it takes. All it depended on was the person behind the trigger and the person with the knife. It's all about unpredictability, a sense of unpredictability only humans knew of.

"However, you will have to sign a non-disclosure agreement before you proceed to leave. It's just a safety measure we have to take in order to be certain of where your loyalties are. We will not complicate matters further and make you sign a bunch of papers, but we will require your contact information and address."

No loose threads were permitted, as expected on their part.

"Very well," she agreed, reaching her hand forth. "I accept,

"Excellent," Mr. Drake affirmed with a nod, shaking her hand.

* * *

"I presume that you don't have any preferences of a specific sort?" She inquired and held up the chocolate bar in front of the glass wall. The conditions had been settled accordingly; Evelyn was allowed to preform her test as long as it was under the supervision of Treece and a handful of his guards. It could not be blamed, but under ordinary circumstances, Evelyn would have much preferred to be alone with her patient.

But, of course, staying alone with an organism of unknown origins did not seem like the most practical approach towards science and research. Risks were something she did not mind taking, but only as long as there were anticipated results in the end. This held none, and so, therefore, the prospect of being accompanied by heavily-armed and trained guards did not strike her as entirely ludicrous.

Much as expected, the moment Ms. Nordstrom's eyes fell upon the unopened bar of Hershey in front of her, the woman leaped into the glass like an animal in need of sustenance. Evelyn could easily admit that she had grown adjusted to the woman's unpredictable behavior, and therefore she refrained from indicating any shock had come to her.

The guards, however, evidently lacked the same composure. As the sound of Ms. Nordstrom slamming against the wall reached them, they all but aimed their weapons at her despite the fact that there was an impenetrable wall of glass between them. Ms. Nordstrom did not seem ignorant towards this hostility – her eyes flickered back and forth between the guards poised behind Evelyn – but there was far more temptation with the chocolate-bar than there was with their weapons.

"_C-C-Could I p-please have it?"_ The patient asked pleadingly, drooling. _"W-W-__**We're**__ hungry."_

The way Ms. Nordstrom's voice altered upon pronouncing '_we'_ had Evelyn tilt her head slightly to the side. It neither sounded like she was sick nor like she was somehow afflicted with an affliction_ (__Laryngitis? Dehydration?)_. It did, however, sound as though she was speaking in unison with something else. Either that or perhaps Evelyn's lack of sleep was taking a toll on her. Though she was no stranger towards sleep deprivation, she acknowledged her limits – albeit reluctantly.

"You may," she responded slowly, scrutinizing Ms. Nordstrom. "But–"

But Treece interrupted her. "Volunteer T790129, step back into the wall and turn around. By no means are you to remain within proximity until Dr. March has stepped out of the cell. Understand?"

"Would it not be more practical for one of us to go inside?" One of the other guards suggested. "I mean, would it not be best since–"

"If you want to risk your life over a goddamn chocolate bar, then by all means, go for it." Treece spat back at him, and thus ensured the guard's silence as the latter said nothing else.

_Risking her life over a chocolate bar._ Thinking back on it, it did sound rather idiotic, or something her brother would have done given the opportunity, regardless of age. His impulsive behavior more than often caused him problems none of them could afford to care for, and she had never imagined that she might do something as ridiculous in the future. Yet there she stood, about to face a parasitic lifeform with a chocolate bar in her grip.

Sighing to herself, she inclined her head towards the patient. "Ms. Nordstrom, please proceed to follow the requirements." With her free hand, Evelyn gestured the woman towards the opposite side of the cell. The older woman shifted her head around once, as if to verify that she understood the request, before she proceeded to hesitantly walk across the floor until she stood with her back to them, having increased the distance between them by several feet.

Content with the progress, Treece nodded and nudged Evelyn from behind. "She's yours now, doc. Try not to get yourself killed or anything. Would save us the trouble of finding a replacement."

Unimpressed with his taunting, Evelyn merely glanced over her shoulder, casting him a disinterested look. "I suppose we'll see."

Then she stepped inside, not knowing what kind of idiocy she had unwillingly participated in.


	10. Chapter 10 - The Parasite

**Disclaimer: I do now own Venom**

**A/N: So, I initially spent the last couple of days writing a chapter on 2,900 words. However, before I published it, I got dissatisfied with it and decided to discard the chapter and rewrite it completely. So, I have spent the last five to six hours now writing a chapter on 4,500 words instead. Hope you enjoy it :)**

**\+ Apologize for any writing mistakes. It's late and I'm too tired to read over it. I know, bad idea, but I'll do it tomorrow.**

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**Chapter 10:** **The Parasite **

* * *

She did not intend to admit it aloud in front of anyone present, but there was a heavy weight that had settled itself on the bottom of Evelyn's chest. It felt tight – to the point where she was physically able to feel her heartbeats through the tips of her fingers. Standing in front of the open cell did, for some reason, make her feel an indescribable sensation.

With her notepad in hand, she tried to dismiss this feeling as mere anticipation; stepping into the room which hosted a foreign lifeform was something she expected would cause anyone to experience something similar. Even the sight of Ms. Nordstrom back on the opposite side of the cell did not make the tightness cease to exist.

Volunteer T790129? It was primitive. Such a designation was meant to be applied for something non-human; an object or a piece of advanced technology that had yet to earn a general name for itself. But to call a human being such a thing was beyond ridiculous. Even if she had been foretold about these terms, she would not have expressed less of any internal disdain for them.

"_Anything with a name has a soul of its own; it's alive, and it should be treated as such." _That was something her mother had always told her when she was significantly younger, during the days she was still capable of thinking with anything but her head. It was a time of bliss for her parents, the time when they had two children who could look beyond the irrational and comprehend the incomprehensible.

But that was not the case this time. Souls were concepts of the human mind, nothing more than terms given to invisible energy that remained attached to a living organism. Evelyn did not believe in such idiotic concepts, but she did believe that anything that was alive should be treated humanely. It seemed hypocritical of her to state such when she was the kind of person who would treat almost anyone with mutual aversion.

"Do you intend to stand there until the chocolate melts or something, doc?" The Head of Security sardonically asked and nudged her sharply with the barrel of his gun _(Lack of weapon safety protocol; Impulsive Tendencies; Relies on his personal opinions instead of logic; Conclusion: Aim for sentiment in case of direct confrontation.) _"We haven't got all night, you know?" There was a low grow back in his voice as his words concluded.

The doctor, however, was unimpressed with his display of aggression and impatience. "I will have to be certain that the necessary cautions have been taken beforehand," Evelyn stated coldly and cast him a sharp glance over his shoulder. "Are the alarms intact in case of attempted escape?"

"_Yeah_, they are," Treece hissed petulantly _(fingers curling around a weapon of choice; Breath growing jagged; Forehead crinkling: Irritability increasing)_ "Now will you get it on already?!"

But Evelyn was in no hurry. Even if the clock went well beyond twelve and she had an early shift the next day, she did not object against the prospect of aggravating Treece's uncontrollable anger just a little bit. Entertainment on her part seemed appropriate, especially considering his subtle threat a little earlier. Usually, she found herself above such childishness, but an exception was made this time.

"I hope so, certainly," she commented and made sure to keep direct eye-contact with him. "It would not look good on your occupation if it turned out that the Head of Security of the Life Foundation was anything but competent in his field. Would you not agree, Mr. Treece? I imagine that the proper term to use for such is 'mortifying'?"

What came next did not exactly strike her as unexpected, but it did nonetheless prompt her to quickly move out of the way in time for her to avoid being stricken with a raised fist. Without wasting a second, she dodged the oncoming hit, but was not quick enough to avoid a knee to her abdomen that struck her just as she managed to dodge the first fist.

_The oxygen was knocked out of her lungs; there came a piercing sensation from her epigastric region; black spots appeared in her vision; her knees buckled to the floor, failing to keep her stance up; there was a brief moment where everything turned black; an inability to properly inhale any oxygen; chance of internal bleeding if left unchecked over a long period of time; plausible rupture in her abdominal organs; _

_Conclusion: __**Temporarily incapacitated**__._

Evelyn fell to her knees with her arm over her stomach, causing her to drop both the notepad and the chocolate from her grip. She was coughing violently, and a metallic taste befell her taste buds. Whether she was bleeding internally or otherwise, there was no way to tell at that moment. Her hearing grew distant and void, every voice and every tone resembling an echo. Drops of saliva escaped her mouth and fell to the floor as she continued to cough, desperate to regain the air she had just recently had stripped away from her.

A moment or so passed before she was able to slowly recollect herself. Her stomach was aching considerably, making each inhale more difficult than the previous one. There was a ringing in her ears that made processing any sound near-impossible, and though the dark spots in her peripheral vision were ceasing, her sight was far from restored. Everything her pupils mustered the strength to focus on was disoriented and lacked colors – or the correct colors.

"_Did that hurt?" _The words were barely audible, but they reached her in time. She lifted her head as much as she could, and saw Treece standing over her with a content look on him. She opened her mouth to try to utter something, but another cough built itself up in her throat and she experienced the urge to let it out. With her other hand over her mouth, the liquid that would have otherwise spilled on the floor fell on her palm instead. She looked down on it and spotted a few distinguishing red droplets.

"_Doesn't look too good, now, does it, Doc?"_ came Treece's distinctively sardonic voice once again. Evelyn had barely a moment to process it before a hand proceeded to grab her by the collar of her coat and force her up against the glass wall. Her back was forcefully pressed up against it and the hand around her collar threatened to limit her air-supply.

A grunt escaped her, and she squinted her eyes as the face of her assailant became more sharpened. Her first reaction glare at him, but she stayed silent and decided to let him spew whatever he wished as long as it meant that he would finish what he had started with as little complications as possible.

"Look, Doc, that mouth of yours ain't winning you any favors," His grin grew wider. "So unless you're going to use it for something good, then I suggest you keep it shut." He closed in on her face a few inches until she could actually feel his breath on her skin. His stench carried hints of tobacco, as did what little color his teeth were covered in. "_Got it_?"

Her inability to give a proper answer must have contented him well enough, because he carelessly proceeded to drop her to the floor as though she was merely an expendable object. It was a short drop, but the impact caused the remaining ache in her abdomen to increase upon contact. Evelyn felt a few coughs build up again and she was subsequently forced to release them. A few more drops of blood stained the white fabric of her coat as she tried to cover her mouth with her elbow.

As soon as she was done, the doctor leaned her back against the glass behind her and took a few deep breaths. She lowered her shoulders as she did so, and she could feel the disorientation threaten to reappear again unless she decided to take it slow. If she was suffering from any internal bleeding or broken ribs, then she could only hope that it was not too serious. If Dr. Lewis or anyone else got word of it, then an explanation would be due.

It did not take long before Treece grabbed her by the wrist and forced her up again, summoning back the pain she imagined had ceased. "This isn't time for taking a nap, doc," he said jovially and promptly let go of her as soon as she was on her feet, seemingly oblivious to her lack of proper stance. Her right arm was still wrapped around her stomach, and the notepad and the chocolate bar was still scattered on the floor where she had dropped them. He quickly ushered her to the cell that was still open behind her. "Now, go do your thing. Quickly. The rest of us are leaving."

"Sir, you shouldn't –" one of the guards attempted to object against his superior's orders. He had not been able to finish before the Head was up to his face, glaring down at the Guard with every hostile intention planned.

"You have something to say, Axelson?" Treece challenged him gravely. "Questioning your orders won't do you any good either, you understand?"

The doctor imagined that any person in the Guard's shoes would take the first opportunity to correct their errors and defuse the situation. Had she been correct, the guard would have hurriedly come up with words to make up for his superior's shortened temper. He would have licked his boots and quickly stated that his words were simply misinterpreted.

But the doctor was genuinely surprised to witness the Guard doing none of the above. Instead, he stood his ground and shook his head, no traces of any fear being visible. Evelyn knew the physical symptoms caused by fear, which included uncontrollable shaking, stuttering, and lack of eye-contact with the source from which the fear originated from.

"I'm not questioning your orders, Sir," the Guard insinuated with the uttermost composure. "But leaving the doctor unsupervised with Volunteer T790129 would be impractical. If we lost her as an asset, it would mean having to undergo the same procedure with another one. Mr. Drake would not be pleas–"

But the Head of Security soon placed a firm hand on the Guard's shoulder, giving him every impression that silence would be preferable above logic. "Don't try to be smart and tell me what the Almighty does and does not want, Axelson. I preferred it when you shut up." But even though he was showing aggression, there was an unmistakable trace of thoughtfulness on Treece's face. Evelyn didn't think that was physically possible, but she was proven mistaken upon seeing him subsequently let go of the guard's shoulder.

Treece placed a contemplative finger under his chin. "But maybe you have a point there, Axelson. Not so stupid after all."

During this moment of appreciated silence, the guard cast a look over at the injured doctor. His protective mask kept the view of his mouth and jaw concealed, but left his dark hair and eyes in view. There was a hint of what Evelyn could only categorize as 'concern' in his eyes, but she did little to return the sentiment. Her own eyes remained firmly devoid of any expressions, making sure that it would summon as little reaction as possible.

Then Treece turned back to the guard and patted his shoulder almost 'affectionately'. "Very well, Axelson. I'm leaving you the responsibility of looking after our precious doctor since you so charitably volunteered for the job." His words rose a few chuckles from the other guards, but not from the Guard or Evelyn themselves.

With the dismissive wave of his hand, Treece gestured the other guards down the corridor and smirked over to the two that were left behind. "We'll leave you to get to work, then." He said. "Should anything unfortunate happen, I'm sure you will inform us beforehand. We'll be there within the minute if so were to occur."

"It won't," Mr. Axelson assured him, his words were distinctive under the sound of the fabric his mask consisted of. "I will make sure of that."

That was all that was exchanged between the Guard and his superior before the latter disappeared down the hallway with the rest of his squad, feeling undoubtedly victorious over the fact that the chances of him losing one of his least-liked inferiors and the bothersome medical _bitch_ had just significantly increased.

It wasn't until their steps grew inaudible in the distance that Evelyn moved her eyes away from the corridor and to the items she had dropped on the floor moments prior. Despite the pressure that was seething agony through her stomach, she still bent down and prepared to reach for them. However, another hand reached her to it before she was as much as able to graze the surface of the notepad.

The Guard stood crouched down over both the pad and the unopened – but cracked – chocolate bar. He then got to his feet and promptly reached the notepad over to her, but only that. The chocolate bar remained in his other hand as he inspected it closely.

Evelyn merely scrutinized the notepad in his grip but did not take it. Instead, her eyes lingered sharply on the chocolate bar. There was a moment of mutual silence where none of them said anything, but she was not interested in engaging in trivial conversations with anyone. "I require that," she said curtly and reached her free hand over to the chocolate, almost completely ignoring the occupied hand he was reaching over to her in similar manners.

The Guard didn't say anything, nor did he do anything to indicate that he acknowledged her existence. Suddenly, he lifted his hand and clasped the chocolate bar down on top of the notepad in the other hand and reached it towards her again. "Here," he said, his voice sounding lower than it was minutes prior.

Without wasting any time, Evelyn snapped the two items out of his grip. She did not say a word, nor did she pay him any attention. Even when he suddenly reached her a piece of fabric, supposedly for the traces of blood on the side of her mouth, she did little to indicate that she held any sentiment towards his actions. If he had some trace of concern for another human being, then it meant little to her from the start. Considering how he was indirectly participating in genocide, one good deed towards someone else did little to change her views.

Evelyn merely cast the handkerchief in his outstretched palm a brief look from her peripheral vision before she returned her attention back to the notepad. "I don't solicit medical care."

"I wasn't offering any," the guard contradicted solemnly with his hand still outstretched towards her. "But it will not make Mr. Drake pleased to see one of his assets in such a pitiful state."

She shook this off with relative ease, shaking her head. "Blood is hardly a reason for concern,"

"I'm not taking any chances," he said, hand still out. "It would not look good if you were to perish from internal bleeding."

"I'm about to enter the cell with an unpredictable alien lifeform whose main attributes includes killing off any host that is incompatible. I suppose it hardly matters whether I perish to internal bleeding or not."

Once again, the Guard did not show any sign of relenting. His persistence was a trait which Evelyn found to be highly inconvenient. She simply dried the blood off with the hem of her sleeve and looked down to see a new but insignificant crimson stain upon the white fabric.

"If you truly wish to put your concerns to use," she spoke apathetically and turned to him, attempting her best to ignore the throbbing inside her stomach. "Then simply make sure that neither the patient nor the symbiote perishes."

"And if it tries to make use of you instead?" he asked cynically, eyes sharpened.

But she was not any more alarmed. "Then either I perish as well, or I endure contact for a short period."

"Don't think you're above being killed," he stated firmly and finally took back the handkerchief. "That thing will kill you sooner than it will try to merge with you."

"There's a higher chance of me being killed by you or Treece than there is of me being killed by any of those symbiotes." She said apathetically. "With the symbiotes, you either die in an instant or live in agony for a brief period. With humans, the outcome is … unpredictable."

"You're not making it any easier for yourself by antagonizing that piece of shit, you know." He muttered. "It's as if you want to be killed."

"My actions are my own, and so are the consequences."

There was nothing else that needed to be said. She was wasting time standing there, and so she decided that it was time to do what she had set her mind to. With the cell still opened, she walked inside and gestured for the Guard to shut it behind her. He seemed reluctant to do so, but with his mask covering half of his face, it was hard to tell what kind of expression he was making.

"Are you sure you know what you are doing?" he asked. "Volunteer T790129 is highly–"

"I am well aware of what kind of condition _Ms. Nordstrom_ is currently in." She interrupted him. "I know what kind of actions are required in order to make progress. Exposing a patient to a weapon of any kind will most likely cause an increase in the chances of a mental breakdown, so I will have to ask you to remain outside while I do what is required. Understood?"

At first, he did not seem to know what to do. His expressions (whatever she could see of them) remained stern, but he nonetheless wrote down the code required to automatically shut it. The doors closed up, leaving Evelyn alone with Ms. Nordstrom, whose back had remained turned to them ever since the predicament began.

Evelyn was slightly surprised by the fact that she had not attempted to exploit the situation to her advantage and escape the place, but she did not question it. She did not lie when she said that humans were unpredictable.

"C-C-Can I turn a-around now?" the patient inquired hesitantly, looking over her shoulder with a twitching head. "I-It's really hungry now."

Evelyn nodded and crouched down to place the chocolate bar down on the floor, then proceeded to slide it across the ground until it landed a few inches by the patient's feet. As she was about to stand up again, the sensation of a piercing agony reached her again in her stomach. A low but distinguished gasp echoed in the cell as she struggled to regain her balance. Her legs threatened to buckle beneath her weight and she mustered whatever strength she had left to not fall.

Between her heavy breaths and gasps, the Guard's voice could be heard from the other side of the glass. _"Are you alright?"_ he asked, knocking on the glass with the back of his gun. _"I'll open the cell, so just–"_

"I'm stable."She made sure to interrupt him, each breath threatening to pierce something inside her. It hurt, that much could not be denied. It hurt to the point where she considered simply leaving in order to have a medical examination performed back at the hospital, but she still had work to finish. If Mr. Drake's satisfaction was not satiated, then there would be little chance of her being able to leave either way.

But there would be an even smaller chance of her being able to do any good if she remained standing. Unsteadily, she moved over to the wall and slid down, experiencing a small relief upon being able to settle down for a bit. Her breath slowed down, and the pain began to vanish, but never completely. It was always there, a sharp sting for each inhale.

"A-Are you h-h-hurt?"

She tilted her head to the side, but instead of seeing Ms. Nordstrom consuming the chocolate in one go, the older woman's focus was on her. Her brows were furrowed up and her hands were knotted together.

Evelyn let out a hollow sigh and shook her head. "A simple mistake on my side."

"That man hurt you," the patient persisted. "Why did he do that? Why would he do that to someone of his own kin?"

That question in particular had the doctor's eyebrow furrow. She looked at the older woman through her peripheral vision and did not break the eye-contact she had established with her – or rather – with _them_.

"Is this your inquiry or the symbiote's?" she asked easily.

There was a second of silence before it was broken. "It- It said it seemed strange."

"What is strange is that It does not take the opportunity to eat the chocolate or the doctor that's at Its disposal," she croaked just as another cough built itself up in her throat. She quickly covered her mouth and barked into her sleeve once, but by the time she withdrew it from her face, there were already new traces of blood.

Treece was really not holding back on her.

"Y-Y-You're really hurt," Ms. Nordstrom said softly and took a few steps towards her, but Evelyn instantly held her hand up.

"Please refrain from coming closer," she demanded calmly. "It's protocol, otherwise the guards will have to be summoned."

It would be problematic on both parts if that was to occur. None of them doubted Treece would be docile in his attempt to neutralize the threat and it was something both of them wished to avoid.

Ms. Nordstrom didn't move further, but she stayed where she was and sat down on her knees. Her dark hair hung over her shoulders, unbrushed and unkempt, and her malnourished features came to better view.

That view was… pitiable.

And Evelyn knew that she had become a contributing factor behind it.

"Now," Instead on dwelling on trivial matters any further, she pulled the notepad up to her with a pen from her pocket and prepared to write. "Please consume the chocolate bar and describe to me how you are–"

"It's asking what your name is,"

Evelyn paused before the tip of the pen could graze the surface of the paper. Her eyes fell back to the patient and she blinked. "Pardon?"

"What's your name?" Ms. Nordstrom repeated. "You never said it."

"It was of no relevance," Evelyn answered simply, returning her focus to the paper. "Now, could you–"

"I think I heard one of the guards c-calling you March. Is that y-y-your name?" Ms. Nordstrom inquired persistently, a small smile forming on her lips. "It thinks it's a strange name for a human."

"Perhaps," the doctor found herself complying. "But 'Venom' seems like an uncommon name for something extraterrestrial. From where was it acquired?" Perhaps exchanging answers was a suitable way to receive some questions. In spite of herself, Evelyn grew curious.

Ms. Nordstrom closed her eyes for a moment, her mouth uttering silent words before she opened them again. "It- It says It's always ha- had that name. It doesn't know how, t-though."

"But 'Venom' is a human word," Evelyn explained thoroughly. "It's usually a term which applies to the kind of substance animals such as snakes or spiders secrets. It's their primary weapon against enemies. How come something not from Earth has gained such a word as Its designation?"

Ms. Nordstrom chortled. "How did you get the n-name 'March'?"

"It's simply mine," Evelyn answered briefly. "I inherited it from my father, and I'm the only one who can pass it to childr–"

It was then that Evelyn realized that she was dwelling into matters that were not hers to study. There was no reason for her to engage in trivial conversations, only to observe the physical effects of the contact between them. She began to feel … strange, like something had been taken from her. There were no plausible reasons behind speaking in so personal manners, nor was there any reason behind starting a conversation like this in the first place. She could not afford to be distracted.

Shaking her head, she reached for her pen again, a firmer grip this time around the device. She started writing the name and general information about the patient, sighing. "But enough about this, let us proce–"

"**You are a very …. Strange human."**

In the middle of her writing, she stopped. The words she had written became disoriented letters as her mind wandered from them and back to the patient. Ms. Nordstrom was still sitting there, hadn't moved an inch, but there was something strange about her eyes.

The sclera of both of her eyes had morphed into a completely white color, her pupils were almost gone from sight.

"**Very strange,"** Ms. Nordstrom continued, but in a voice that did not belong to her. Deep, dark, as though her vocal cords had been altered. **"Very **_**broken**_**."**

The doctor could not say anything at the time, but the heavy weight on her chest had settled down there once again. This non-human entity had a human designation, so perhaps it was more human than she had anticipated. For some reason, the prospect of _that_ unsettled her much more than she thought possible.

It they were lucky, it did not have the same mindset.


	11. Chapter 11 - The Change

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom**

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**Chapter 11: The Change**

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_Several Hours Earlier _

It was an odd request which Anne had received from Dan, but one she was nonetheless determined to see through. Therefore, as soon as she had ensured that Mr. Belvedere had been fed enough, she exited her home and drove over to the address which Dan had sent her over text.

It wasn't too far away from her home, which came as a relief. Only a twenty-minute drive and she was already there. It was a quiet neighborhood but occupied enough. The road had rows of houses on each side, and a few small playgrounds here and there for children to play. Much to Anne's lack of surprise, the majority of the homes seemed like they were inhibited by prominent figures in society; bureaucrats, medical experts, other notable occupations that acquired high salaries.

However, it did not strike her as particularly odd that Dan's associate, Dr. March of all people, lived in such a privileged neighborhood such as this one. Victorian-styled home, three floors at least, structured backgrounds ranging back several decades. It seemed like the ideal spot where a successful woman within the medical field would reside in.

Had she had more ambitions as a teenager, Anne herself might have pursued the same field herself. However, she was reclusive back in the days and had therefore decided that perhaps law did not seem like as much of a hassle as medical school did. A part of her regretted not testing her boundaries, but there was nothing wrong with her current occupation.

Well, except for the part where a certain ex decided it would be the perfect means to get his story into the headlines.

Anne shook her head dismissively and parked outside the house the address referred to. Much like the other homes, this one was not excluded within the category of prestigious houses. Flat-roofed, white, a number of windows (all of which had been drawn shut with curtains), and three floors, none of which revealed any lights on inside the house. This could very well mean that the doctor was not home, but there was a black car parked not too far away on the property that could just as well be the doctor's. It was of the fancy kind of Mercedes, a black one which did not seem old. Another privilege with the wealthy life, no doubt.

The lampposts outside were Anne's only source of light as she turned off the engine and stepped out of the car. Her steps on the pavement echoed through the silent evening as she approached the door. Had it not been for the countless homes in the vicinity, she might not have imagined that this was actually a part of San Francisco. She had been living there for years now, even before she met…

But she could not imagine that a place that was a part of such a large city could actually be so soundless. Maybe that meant that silence was a privileged only the filthy rich could afford, which was about the only thing she envied them for. She was by no means far from that status herself, but the quiet had never been something Anne had been able to afford.

Before she took a step further, Anne pulled out her phone and checked the time. It was late, no doubt, about twenty-two in the evening. It would seem strange on her part to show up so late, but it could probably be excused if she was discreet about the purpose of her visit. Dan had expressed genuine worry upon asking that she tried checking it out and Anne had no reason to doubt that his intentions were good-natured.

Not to mention, she had met the oncologist sometime in the past, and would often encounter her in the hospitals whenever she waited for Dan's shift to conclude. The first time they had met had been at a medical conference Anne had accompanied Dan to during the beginning of their relationship.

* * *

_It had been at the San Francisco City Hall, an annual gathering for every medical-associates in the city. She remembered Dan wearing one of those fancy tuxedoes he always loathed wearing but did nonetheless in order to appease to the crowd. Anne, on the other hand, had worn something more simplistic but nonetheless decent in order to fit the occasion. A white-fabric sheath dress that reached her knees and a pair of heels to accommodate. Some of her mother's jewelry was also sparkling on her, but they were hardly as heavy as she imagined what some of the jewlery the other women were wearing were._

_It had been a fun evening to enjoy, no doubt about that. People who could not help but share their achievements with someone as 'common' as herself, drinks and food were served around the place like charity, and there hardly seemed like there was anything to miss. A lot of Dan's associates were pleased to make her acquaintance, although they seldom stood longer than a few minutes with her before other matters and other people forced their attention elsewhere. _

_She had never minded it. She had no yearn for being the center of attention, she never had even as a teenager either. However, at some point in the night, amidst all the chattering, the dancing, and the music playing in the background, Dan's focus had been turned elsewhere and Anne was pleased to see him enjoy the evening with his colleagues as well instead of having to stick by her side all night like he was glued to her. He deserved that sort of privilege, that sort of fun._

_But that had still left her a wallflower by the end of the evening. Instead of joining the chatter, Anne had neatly poised herself near the food table for no other reason than to watch everyone else have a good time. A young bachelor had tried to ask her hand for a dance, but she had politely declined his offer. After giving her a glass of sparkling champagne, he left and Anne reassumed the role of the tedious wallflower._

_Until she realized that she no longer stood alone by the table._

_A few feet to her right, next to the plates of shrimps and other sea-food delicacies, a woman placed herself in front of the table with her arms crossed over her chest and a disinterested look in her eyes. The first thing that surprised Anne was the woman's lack of prestigious exterior appearance. Although she was by no means dressed poorly, she seemed more like she was dressed for a common occasion than an annual one such as this._

_Alabaster-colored – but formal – shirt, a black knee-length skirt made undoubtedly of expensive fabric, t-strap high-heels that went just a few insignificant inches above the ground, and dark long hair that was kept in a low bun. No jewelry had been applied as far as she could tell, no significant amount of make-up either – quite dull, in fact – and most certainly not as extravagant as some of the other attendants had proven to be over the course of the party. It was almost as if she did not care about being there._

_Without a word said or a move made, Anne reached the champagne glass up to her lips and prepared to take a sip, but something kept her from finishing the first one before a voice to the side spoke up._

"_Rohypnol is an anesthetic drug that induces relaxation, weakening in the muscles, and partial or fully unconsciousness after a brief amount of time. If I were you, I would stay clear of any drinks Andrew Campbell might provide you with."_

_Without having even consumed the concoction in her drink, Anne felt a cough in her throat and quickly got it out. The drink spilled slightly onto the floor, but not even enough to warrant any attention from the other attendants. They were far too occupied to notice anything out of the ordinary, which came both as a blessing and as a curse given the predicament._

_Anne snapped her head to the woman, shocked. "H-How do you know that?"_

_For the first time, the woman turned to face her. But the eyes were… odd. Green, but with no life present in them. They were void, which seemed stupid to say aloud (which she was fortunate she hadn't), but that's the best description Anne could come up with at that moment she laid her own eyes on them._

"_Unless you have been deprived of your sight, there's a white pill in your drink that's dissolving as we speak," the woman explained, walking over to Anne. She quickly snatched the glass out of her grip without spilling a drop and held it in front of her eyes._

_True enough, there was something dissolving in the drink, but it was almost already gone by the time Anne laid her eyes on it. It could not compare to the feeling of dread that surged through her at the prospect of actually being drugged. She was no foreigner when it came to unwanted advances, but this was the first time someone had actually tried to take such drastic measures._

"_A single milligram of the drug can last for hours and usually does not take long in order to induce effects," the woman explained, though it sounded more like she was speaking to herself. Her eyes were not on Anne as she talked. "But Campbell is an intern, not qualified for prescribed drugs. It's also illegal to manufacture and be in the possession of Rohypnol in the states, so I'm curious as to how he got his hands on it in the first place, though I have my suspicions."_

"_How do you know it's Rohypnol?" Anne asked, eyeing the drink suspiciously. That's when she started to notice that the drink had a slightly changed hue. Instead of white, it had turned a bright blue. It could easily have remained undetectable because of the color the champagne, but it was still noticeable now that she scrutinized it further. _

"_It has a central blue color in the center, as you see. It's amongst one of the detectable attributes about the drug, other than the symptoms which follow subsequently after consumption. But I sincerely doubt you would wish to endure those."_

_Anne stayed silent, not knowing quite what to say. Her eyes lingered on the spiked drink before they rose to the woman's countenance. Her features were stoic and stern, but there were distinctive dark bags under her eyes which indicated someone who seldom received the adequate sleep required. They were hardly noticeable, but the crinkles in the crooks of her eyes that ceased to go undetected._

_Her piercing attention must have caught the woman's attention, for her eyes suddenly flickered to Anne's. _

_Anne flinched slightly but stayed put in her spot. The other woman gaze seemed sharp, penetrating, but nonetheless non-threatening. It was not the sort of look you typically received from someone who intended to murder you on the spot, but it would be considered lying if Anne stated that she was completely unfazed._

_But the eye-contact only lasted for a short second before the woman proceeded to incline her head towards Anne. "I will report this incident to the security guards and have Campbell escorted out of here. The police will become involved, but it won't interfere with all the jovial atmosphere."_

"_I … uhm … yes," Anne stuttered, not sure how to show her gratitude. "That would be for the best. Thank you, ms…"_

"_Evelyn! I'm glad to see that you came," Came Dan's voice from the crowd. _

_Both women snapped their heads towards the direction which he came from, watching him practically fight his way through the masses in order to get to them. After a bit of a struggle, he eventually prevailed and reached them. After placing an affectionate kiss on Anne's cheek (to which she flushed), he turned to the woman and smiled._

"_I was almost certain that you would not come this time either," he admitted, placing an arm around Anne's waist. "What changed your mind?"_

"_I had matters I needed to discuss with Dr. Renfield," the other woman, Evelyn, explained. "In regard to his intern."_

"_I see." He then gestured to Anne. "Evelyn, I want to introduce you to my – ehm – girlfriend, Anne Weying." Anne could hardly blame him for being reluctant about saying the g-word aloud. They had only been dating for a couple of months, so the term was relatively new for both of them. _

"_Annie, meet Dr. Evelyn March; one of our leading oncologists."_

_Anne promptly reached her hand forward. "A pleasure to meet you, Ms. March."_

_The oncologist took it and shook it. "Likewise."_

"_I also wish to thank you for helping me,"_

"_I do not solicit gratitude."_

_Her crude answer surprised Anne, rendering her temporarily mute._

_Dan, however, was in the dark. His eyes flickered between the two women, searching for an answer. "Help? With what?"_

_Ms. March's eyes flashed to Dan. "Dr. Lewis, do you recall the package that had been accidentally sent to Dr. Renfield?" she asked. "The one he delivered shortly afterward to the police for suspicions of being part of a drug-exchange? Some of it was gone before the authorities arrived to collect it, correct?"_

"_Yeah? He reported that some of it were gone before he had been able to deliver i–"_

"_I have suspicions that the intern managed to steal an amount before it." _

_Dan blinked. "Campbell?" Dan's face was filled with shock and disbelief, almost as if he imagined that he was hearing wrong. "What makes you think that?"_

_On cue, Ms. March held the blue-colored drink up for him to see. "A drink with approximately 2 or more milligrams of the Rohypnol was given to Ms. Weying's by the intern a few minutes ago. I suspect his intentions were to take advantage of her in her intoxicated state." The way she spoke of the incident made it sound as though she was simply speaking of the weather. _

_Needless to say, Dan quickly snatched the drink from her hand and held it up to inspect it. His face was written with worry and he quickly turned back to Anne and inspected her face. "Annie, are you alright? Did you drink any of it?"_

_But Anne shook her head, reassuring him of her stable condition. "No, I didn't. Ms. March figured it out before I could drink any."_

_Dan swiftly turned around to face his colleague and all but wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly as if asphyxiation was his intention. The look that Anne watched befall the oncologist was a mixture of annoyance and apathy._

"_Thank you so much, Evelyn. Really, you have no ide–"_

"_If we could push the sentiments aside, Dr. Lewis," The oncologist stated and moved out of her colleague's embrace. "This incident should be reported, but keeping it subtle should be preferable. It would not give our hospital a positive reputation should it become public knowledge that one of our interns were involved with attempted drugging."_

"_I- Of course. I'll tell people to keep their eyes open," Dan said, but promptly returned to Anne's side. _

_Ms. March then inclined her head to the both of them before she turned her heels and walked away, intending on retrieving the guards. _

_The evening ended with security escorting the young intern accordingly to what the oncologist had predicted. It was quite a sight which the majority of the attendants witnessed, but after the predicament had passed, the rest of the night went as usual. After the commotion, a good number of the guests had already called it a night and gone home. So once again, she found herself standing by the food tables like before, but the only difference this time was that she had Dan by her side, and no drink in hand._

"_Well, it has been an eventful day, don't you agree?" Anne asked with a sigh. _

"_I'm sorry," Dan said and placed a hand on her shoulder, looking at her regretfully. "I should have been more careful and not left you alone."_

"_Hey," she said and placed a hand on his shoulder, comforting him. "It wasn't your fault. Besides, nothing happened." She put her hand on his face, caressing it lovingly. "Things went well thanks to Ms. March."_

_He let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah, she's like that."_

"_Who is she, really?"_

_He let out a sigh. "We're old friends, if you can call it that."_

_This perked her interest. "Old friends?_

_His eyes proceeded to widen, and he quickly shook his head, much to her amusement. "Not like that! I swear!"_

_Unable to contain herself, she let out a laugh at his reaction and shook her head reassuringly. "I'm joking, Dan. I'm joking."_

_It was cute to see him flustered like that, even when he tried to hide it. "But seriously, though, you've known each other for long."_

"_We both studied at John Hopkins," Dan explained as soon as he was able to compose himself. "She's always been sharp, but also … detached."_

"_Does that explain why she reminded me of a doll?" Anne asked playfully. "One with no strings attached."_

"_Actually, that's the best description anyone's been able to come up with so far. At the hospital, Evelyn's one of the best, but her name is also a noun."_

"_A noun?"_

"_I don't use it, but it's most commonly associated with … Uncivil terms." He scratched the back of his head. "She's not really anyone who people can talk to in need. She helps people, as expected, but only as far as wounds go. She stays clear of the rest."_

_Anne couldn't understand the problem. "So? She helped me, didn't she?"_

"_She did, but it's most likely because there was something to gain out of it. As she said, the hospital would get a bad reputation if it became public knowledge that an intern attempted to drug someone at their conference, right?" Dan seemed increasingly frustrated, but not in an aggressive way. Instead, it was in a worried way. "She saves people, but not because of personal interest."_

"_Aren't doctors supposed to be selfless? Isn't that in the job description?" _

"_It's not like she's corrupt who only does things for the coin," Dan contradicted with another sigh, leaned back into the table. "She … doesn't understand how to care for the patients. She keeps them living, but not alive. It's like… she doesn't understand how to."_

_His answer surprised Anne, but she nodded and pondered on those words. "When you work in a place that's filled with death and sorrow, perhaps that's why she's doing it?" she suggested. "Getting too attach to someone in that field might become … unbearable if the odds are against you on the table. It's simply just her way of making due."_

_"Yeah, I know the feeling," he agreed, then smiled at her. "But maybe we better get home as well. I'll drive you."_

* * *

Though their initial counter had been brief, as had every encounter since then, Anne respected the woman whose skills allowed her to get unscathed out of a troublesome situation. The thought somehow eased the tension as Anne went over to the entrance-door and knocked a couple of times.

At first, there was silence. In fact, that silence was the only thing she heard. No footsteps inside, no lights turning on, no nothing. Either she had failed to knock hard enough, or the place really was empty.

Clenching her fist again, she proceeded to knock a few more times, harder this time. Her knuckles began to ache, and the impact left lingering traces of dry skin on top, but that still did not warrant any attention from the inside. It struck her as strange, because if there was a car outside, then there ought to be someone inside.

But then again, it was late in the evening, and she could not simply barge in like she owned the place. For an attorney, that would be far from the ideal sort of action she could commit. She shook her head and shrugged. "Well, that sucks."

There was no point in lingering about, especially not late in the evening. Either Ms. March was busy with something else like family matters, or she simply wasn't feeling well. A message might have been preferred if the latter was correct, but it was something that would have to wait.

But as Anne turned around, she noticed something odd behind her. The black car she had seen earlier suddenly turned on, temporarily blinding her. She held up her arms in an attempt to shield her eyes, but once the lights were gone, so was the car. It echoed down the street until it was out of range to be heard.

"Wait," She blinked. "That wasn't Ms. March's car?"

If it wasn't Ms. March's, whose was it?

* * *

She slammed the reports on the table in front of Dr. Skirth, whose eyes widened upon seeing the faint streaks of blood which adorned the younger doctor's face. "Dr. March, what happene–"

"The patient's condition has increased upon being fed with phenethylamine." The Oncologist stated firmly, evidently indifferent to her own physical well-being. "Ms. Nordstrom's heartbeat decreased, she responded significantly better to physical assessments, and it seems to keep the symbiote in a docile state."

Of course, she had taken precautions prior to checking the patient's status. With the Guard's weapon aimed at Ms. Nordstrom, Evelyn had warned her that if any boundaries were crossed, permanent incapacitation would be necessary. For whatever reason, the patient had complied. Nothing had happened over the course of the assessment, which came as a significant surprise to her.

Dr. Skirth's eyes fell over the papers in front of her and she hesitantly reached for them, but a hand fell on top of them before she could even graze them. A loud sound vibrated through the room and the ecologist flinched.

The CEO swiped the reports over to his side of the table, and his eyes grew wide upon reading what was written. "This is exceptional," he breathed, holding the papers in front of him. "We'll give them a daily dose of this if it results in progression."

"Daily sustenance, in general, is required."

"O-Of course, but this is–" His eyes flickered over to the doctor who had made the assessment, but something kept him from saying what he had initially intended to. The traces of blood on her white lab-coat and the streaks of faint red on her lips caught his attention.

He lowered the papers and took a step towards her, reached for something in his pockets, and then proceeded to pull out a white handkerchief with the Life Foundation insignia on it.

Evelyn said nothing but kept her eyes sharp. The pain in her abdomen had ceased considerably by now, but she didn't doubt that a closer inspection was required if she wished to ensure silence from her colleagues in the following days. The last thing that was preferable was bothersome inquiries from the likes of Dr. Lambert or Dr. Lewis. The latter would undoubtedly question her unanticipated absence out of concern, but the former would question it purely due to her lack of interest in his attempt at courtship.

"Dr. March, were you attacked by the volunteer?" Mr. Drake asked, but there was no hint of any worry, neither in his tone nor on his facial features. Typical signs of the sentiment were quirked brows, wavering tones; more apparent signs than subtle ones. Mr. Drake was, however, showing none of the sorts. His face remained neutral, his stature was firm and solid, and his stance indicated that nothing was amiss. His hand barely wavered, which should have been impossible considering how the muscles kept inactivity from being completely possible.

The doctor shook her head at this assumption and did not take the handkerchief. She opened her mouth to utter the truth, but someone claimed the silence before she could.

"It was T790129 who did it, Sir."

Mr. Drake and Dr. Skirth both turned their heads towards the direction the voice came from whereas Evelyn kept her head where it had been initially placed. Heavy footsteps echoed in the laboratory as Treece entered. There was a smug look on his face, one that both the CEO and the ecologist were too familiar with after years of working with him.

The doctor did not respond even as the security guard placed himself within a few inches of her. His bodily odor of tobacco and smoke reached her nostrils even before he entered proximity, but she did not grant him the privilege of looking at him.

Treece merely smirked, displaying his imagined superiority. "T790129 tried to merge itself with the doc during the assessment, but we were able to interfere and keep it from doing any more bodily harm, sir. The situation was handled, and you got your results, as expected." The pride in his voice was unmistakable, and it could have easily been mistaken for arrogance. The latter came as no surprise, but the fury that befell the CEO did.

Mr. Drake's eyebrows lowered to an unimaginable point and his teeth gritted themselves together so tightly it seemed as though he was about to break them. His fingers clenched themselves around the papers he was holding – crumbling them – and both Treece and Dr. Skirth reacted by taking steps back from their boss.

The next thing anything knew, Mr. Drake took an aggressive step forward and flew into an unpredictable rage. "You allowed it to _touch_ _her_?!" he questioned rapidly, finger on the verge of touching Treece by the eye. "You were not supposed to leave even during the assessment, Treece! What if it had merged with her and killed her? We would have lost one of our own! I am willing to make sacrifices, but not like thi–"

"You are mistaken, Mr. Drake." Evelyn briefly interrupted him, being evidently calmer than the CEO was. To her, stating the obvious and the genuine did not strike her as a difficult challenge to overcome. Threats also did little to move her, even if she did spot the vague glare that was present in the Head of Security's eyes.

Unfazed by this, she shifted her head around to face both the men in the room, but particularly the man whose scalp lacked the adequate amount of hair. "It was not the volunteer that exposed me to the assault, nor the symbiote. It was Treece."

"She's doesn't know what she's talking about."

Mr. Drake moved to the side and Treece practically forced his way around and over to the doctor. The smug grin on his face was vague now, but nonetheless present. His steps were heavier than usual, which usually indicated that either he was deliberately putting pressure on himself in order to appear larger for imitation, or he was carrying some heavy-arms that were well-concealed beneath the fabric of his choice of clothes.

The doctor did not move out of the way, although she was quite certain that this could as well result in another – more severe – hemorrhage. Needless to say, there was no quivering in her being, no decreasing body-temperature, no signs of any distortion. Therefore, she concluded that she was not afraid. Even as the Head of Security placed himself an inch or so in front of her, nothing changed.

He was just a man.

"The doctor's simply confused," Treece said without taking his eyes off her. "The got her in the back of her head when she wasn't looking. Caused her a bit of panic, I'm afraid. She's not thinking straight–"

"Treece,"

The sound of Mr. Drake's collected voice seemed to spark something with the security guard. His smile vanished entirely, his eyes doubled in size, and he hardly seemed able to muster the strength to turn around and look.

"Dr. Skirth, be kind and drive Dr. March home. You can take the night off."

A firm grip was placed on top of Treece's shoulder from behind.

"I wish to have a private conversation with Treece."

* * *

Lampposts flashed past them outside the car, but Evelyn was barely able to notice them as her eyes consistently closed for each time they passed a new one. The car was quiet, but as she occasionally glanced over at the ecologist from her peripheral vision, she did not let the sight of the older woman's tight fingers on the wheel go unnoticed.

"Are you going to be alright?" Dr. Skirth asked. "You were hurt. Badly."

"If this bleeding is trivial, then it will improve naturally over the course of a few weeks on its own. Perhaps some pain killers to accompany."

"I am sorry for the things you saw today," The ecologist breathed, as though she had been holding her breath for quite a while. "But you are aware that Mr. Drake is not going to let you leave after everything you have seen, right?"

"I'm not a fool, if that's what you're indicating," Evelyn responded. "But I haven't signed anything yet, so this deal between us is not legally binding."

"Is any of this _legal_?" The older woman suddenly hiccupped, eyes reddening, on the verge of tears. She began to sniff and had to cover her mouth in order to keep the sound of her whimpering inaudible. She failed, however. "None of this is right. We weren't supposed to proceed this quickly with human experimentations. Only when we were certain that this would work were we supposed to….." She let out a sigh, gathering her composure, and subsequently returned both of her hands to the wheel, but not before drying a tear away from her cheek with the hem of her sleeve. "Mr. Drake, he's- uhm … he's no longer the same man. These symbiotes – these _things_ – they have changed him. They have made him … different."

"Has he ever been exposed to one?" Evelyn asked.

"No, never."

"Then the chances of them being physically responsible are low."

There was a period of silence in the car again, until they finally reached the city. Judging by the numbers displayed on the clock, it was well beyond late. Even though San Francisco was a large city, it never failed to intrigue her how loud and bright it tended to be in the evening.

"Look," Dr. Skirth exhaled. "I'm sorry I ever got you involved in this. If I knew it would turn out like this, then I wouldn't have …"

"Regret doesn't result in progress, Dr. Skirth. My consequences are mine alone."

There was a tight feeling in her chest.

She did not know what it was.

And not even a small dose of Rohypnol could make it go away.

* * *

**A/N: Kudos to those who manage to find the House M.D and Sherlock references I scatter around the chapters ;)**


	12. Chapter 12 - Gods and Monsters

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom**

**A/N: I have read in a few comments that they wish that the story will close in on the movie's plot, and I promise that it will, soon. However, there is a lot of information that is required in the earlier chapters in order to make sense later on. That's why I'm careful with the details so that they become relevant later on. However, I promise that the next chapter will take place during the time our dear main protagonist from the movie will make his debut appearance. **

**A/N x2: I wish to make it clear that I am, by no means, prejudice against religion or the concept of God in any way. What is mentioned in the story is merely Evelyn's perception of God and her lack of faith in His miracles, which is primarily based on everything she has experienced in her life. I don't mean to be disrespectful towards anyone's faith and I sincerely apologize if you feel offended. **

**Thank you all for your attention and please enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 12: Gods and Monsters**

* * *

"I don't suppose you can indulge me in my curiosity and elaborate where you were the other day?" Dr. Lewis inquired playfully as he stirred his coffee. He had added both milk and sugar to the concoction, which was hardly processed as surprising information from the perspective of those who knew him. Dr. Lewis and bitterness were seldom compatible, which explained his natural affinity for sweetness.

Evelyn circled her own spoon in her drink before she lifted it up close to her nostrils, inhaling the intoxicating scent of caffeine and chlorogenic acids. She had anticipated this question from Dr. Lewis sooner or later, and it seemed that the latter option won the bet.

For days now, Dr. Lewis had kept silent about his unnerving urge to ask her, but she had never stayed oblivious towards it. After all, Dr. Lewis was anything but subtle. Not even a charming smile could conceal that from plain view.

She took a sip before she answered, prolonging. "Family-related matters,"

"Oh?" This seemed to surprise him to a certain degree. "Your family was in town?"

"Yes," she answered and put the cup silently down on the table again. "My mother insisted I meet with her to talk."

"That's nice," Dr. Lewis said in an attempt to smile again. "How long has it been since you last spoke, if you don't mind me asking?"

This, for some unfathomable reason, caused her stomach to tighten. However, she instantly regretted it, as the pain that lingered there from Treece's assault remained.

Exhaling through her nose, she mere

"My family and I have not been on speaking terms for some time," Though her answer came brief and casual, there appeared a shadow of reluctance on her mind from revealing something so… intimate. "We share a few words over the phone on times, but that's all."

This particular occurrence seemed to flabbergast the surgeon, but only to a certain degree. He was not one for exaggerations, but that did not make up for his lack of discretion. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't pry–"

"Asking questions does not decrease the chances of the predicament disappearing," Evelyn nonchalantly replied before he was able to finish his confession. "There's no reason to apologize."

"Still, one should not persist in pursuing something so personal." Dr. Lewis contradicted and took a sip of his own drink. "However, for whatever it's worth, I'm glad that you got to see them again."

It would have been, Evelyn thought, even though she parted with her family on less than charitable terms. She recalled the tear-stained face of her mother on the doorstep, and the cold but nonetheless thoughtful countenance her father possessed as he attempted to calm his despairing wife.

They had exchanged hostile words on the day of their separation, few of which Evelyn admitted that she… regretted saying. Perhaps it was a good thing that she granted someone else the illusion that she was on good terms with her family because the truth would surely bring forth inconvenience on both parts. The truth behind it all would kill him, quite literary. Under no circumstances did she intend to have him be befallen by the same fate she subjected the patients to.

"Yeah," she agreed and looked distantly down at the dark concoction in her hand. "I suppose."

"By the way," the surgeon abruptly interjected, gaining her attention. "I had Annie check your place the other day," Before she could question his motives, he raised both his hands up with a sheepish smile on his face. "For good measure, I promise. Anyway, she noticed that there were a black Mercedes parked outside your house, and apparently, it wasn't yours, because it drove away shortly. An acquaintance of yours?"

As much as she wished to chastise him for his obnoxiously concerning behavior, the new information got Evelyn thinking. A black car outside her home, in the middle of the night? Though she did own a black car, it was neither a Mercedes nor one she kept outside of her home whilst she was away. The plausible explanation could be that it was simply one of her neighbors, but that too sounded a little too conspicuous. Was it an agent of the LF who had been sent to keep an eye out in case she proved expendable, or someone else?

Apparently, she must have been pondering too deeply on the subject, because by the time the sound tapping on the table gained her attention, Dr. Lewis was staring at her with widened eyes. "You don't know?"

She shook her head. "I don't, I will keep that in mind in case it reappears. Thank you for the information."

Although he nodded, his eyes spoke of something else. "You know you can always come to us if there's anything, right?" he asked sincerely, surprising the other doctor to a subtle degree. She stared straight into the surgeon's eyes and found herself bemused with his display of worry. It was not something she had not expected from him, but this was becoming tiresome to deal with.

"What if my problems would affect you to unbearable lengths?" she asked, placing the cup down on the table with a resonating clink. This caused the surgeon to flinch a bit, but he remained firmly placed on his seat as he watched his colleague glare ever-so-slightly at him. Though this was by no means an uncommon occurrence, this particular incident seemed more severe.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Evelyn felt her fingers unconsciously tighten around the coffee-cup with such force that it felt as though she threatened to break it into pieces. He was offering his help so easily –too easily – that it was almost pathetic.

Daniel Lewis had always been unimaginably charitable, too much for his own good. He would always place the need of others before his own, regardless of the circumstances. Even during their time at University, he was still so generous with others. He would help them no matter what, he would become worried even if the situation did not solicit his attention, and he would never turn down the chance to help someone.

Evelyn found it much more challenging to cover up her frustrations now than she ever did before, and there was no telling why that was the case. "If my problems were to cause you immeasurable pain and struggles, would you still offer your assistance so carelessly?"

By the time she was finished, Evelyn was already towering over him from the opposite side of the table, her eyes penetrating through his through an intense glare that could only cover up the vibrations that resonated in her stomach. It caused her pain, but it could not compare to the incomprehensible sensation she felt surging through her at that moment.

At first, there came not a word from the surgeon. Not a sound; not a single sign that he was anything but mute. His face was pale, but his face was unreadable. At first, she assumed that he was simply deliberating his answers in time to give it to her, but it all ended upon not even a second sooner.

"Yes, I would."

The words that left the doctor caused all thoughts in her head to abruptly halt. The letters that were supposed to organize themselves in her subconsciousness froze and so did her movements. Her breath threatened to leave her as she stood there, silent and contemplatively.

"Why?"

He smiled at her, oblivious to her state of shock. "Because that is what friends do."

_Friends_?

* * *

"_Then God said, "Take your son, your only son, whom you love—Isaac—and go to the region of Moriah. Sacrifice him there as a burnt offering on a mountain I will show you_

The leather cover of the book felt dry beneath the tips of her fingers, as it had not been touched nor removed from the bookshelf in years. Dust had gathered on top of it after so many years of negligence, but it was hardly its exterior which concerned her at the moment.

Evelyn held her head in frustration, rubbing her temples with her right hand as the other one sustained the book's balance on top of the table. Quite frankly, there had never been a moment in her life where she imagined that reading this would have granted her any favors. She had initially intended to use it as some sort of brain exercise; to locate everything deemed a 'miracle' and deduced the true reasons behind them through scientific means.

However, that seemed not to be the case.

Licking her fingers, she browsed through the book until she landed on a page that somehow struck her as unbelievably familiar.

_Genesis 3:6._

Her eyes sharply scrutinized the words that were elaborated on the pages.

"'_For God knows that in the day you eat of it, your eyes will be opened and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.' __When the woman saw that the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eyes and that it was desirable for obtaining wisdom, she took the fruit and ate it,"_

The reason both Eve and Adam were thrown out of the Garden of Eden and forced to walk the earth without the divine favor of their deity. Tempted by knowledge and forced to pay the price of her actions, all because of a serpent.

A young Evelyn had always been curious about what her namesake had done in order to get punished so severely, just because they yearned knowledge above ignorance. Their God wished to keep them hidden in the dark, preserve their innocence as though it would save them forever. The prospect of knowledge caused them to lose their initial home but granted them the ability to open their eyes for the first time.

Everything came at a cost.

Nothing was every free.

Wisdom in exchange for the painful truth, ignorance at the cost of knowledge, prosperity in exchange for sacrifice.

A man, willing to sacrifice whatever meant necessary to appease his faith.

A woman, willing to defy her morals to achieve wisdom.

Two sides of the same coin.

_Look at the world. What do you see? War, poverty. A planet on the brink of collapse. I would argue that God __has__ abandoned us!_

A clasp echoed in the room as Evelyn tightly shut the book. "It's all ridiculous," she uttered bitterly, gritting her teeth together with immense force. Her stomach tightened, her fingers were curling up against the covers of the book, her eyes were twitching. For the first time in a long one, she experienced a sensation she had assumed abandoned her years ago. Or, rather, a sensation she had discarded as not to get ahead of her work.

Without thinking of the consequences, she threw the book with such immense force that it crashed into one of her kitchen cabinets on the opposite side of the room; shattering the glass on impact. Shards descended on the floor and scattered around, far beyond her reach but close enough to reach her ears.

Panting escaped the doctor's mouth, silencing any other sound that might have occupied the rest of the space in the house. Her heartbeats were increasing, her pulse was quickening, there rested a bottomless pit inside her chest, one that could not be filled regardless of how many inhales she took.

_No God caused this,_ she bitterly acknowledged. _Humans did._

Her eyes trailed upwards, and the image of a black figure standing in front of her with white, piercing eyes came into iew.

_"Humans caused_ _this,"_ she thought as she stared into Its white eyes_. "because they are strange. Because they are-"_

**_"BROKEN."_**

* * *

The following days passed quickly, but they were filled with content that could make even the strongest being in the universe crumble with pressure and succumb to despair. Between working her usual shifts and being unanticipatedly escorted by members of the LF, there was little time to do anything else.

However, she was successfully able to defuse any questions regarding her absences at bay. Her colleagues' inquiries did not linger long enough for her to deem them noticeable, but they were nonetheless persistent and could pose potential threats if they went beyond the point of verbal conversations. Curiosity was one of humanity's greatest and strongest attributes, which meant that it was a struggle to avoid. Evelyn knew that discretion was necessary.

For the next days, she kept working, both at the hospital and with the LF. Signing a disclosure agreement had come as a priority with the CEO, but she herself did not feel any obligation towards a piece of papers that was supposed to legalize something illegal. Ink on a piece of paper was hardly enough to make her ensure her loyalties, but it was enough to keep her silent for the time being. A bullet to the head was, to say the least, not preferable to a closed mouth.

Over a short amount of time of research and assessments, conclusions were made and progress increased. The test subjects were showing development which pleased Mr. Drake to no limit, and it also aided them in making sure that the hosts prevailed the temporary agony which had been inflicted on them.

But despite the development that had been able to come forth, one of the volunteers perished in the experiments. Mr. Beckley was deemed deceased after the symbiote had started to tear through his organs, both the heart and liver were untraceable by the time the facility had managed to perform a brief, and non-thorough, autopsy on what little remained of the body.

The researchers had failed to provide the host with the proper sustenance, and thus, both Mr. Beckley and the symbiote inside him were gone. One less guinea-pig was at their disposal, and it was quite a sight to watch Mr. Drake express his discontent to those who were supposed to keep it from happening in the first place. A few papers were thrown to the floor, and Evelyn watched him reprimand the scientists who were supposed to be responsible for the surveillance of the volunteer. Needless to say, all of those who failed to do their jobs were subsequently fired, which meant that they now had fewer scientists at their disposal.

Mr. Drake was allowing his impulsive tendencies to get ahead of them, and if this continued, there would not be many left to reap of the benefits Project Symbiosis was supposed to distribute to them.

* * *

Smoke ascended from Dr. Skirth's lips as she pulled the cigarette out. "I don't think I can do this anymore," she said thoughtfully, having evidently been affected severely over the course of the last few days. Her skin was considerably paler than it had previously been, but she was no longer trembling as she had before. Even in the darkness of the night, that much was clear.

Evelyn looked at her through her peripheral vision before she returned her focus back to the sky that had been claimed by the night. "You won't live for long if you tell Mr. Drake that," she said, looking over at the buildings surrounding them.

Numerous of structures, advanced technology in their wake, things that most people could only dream of being in the vicinity of; a place she once associated with everything she wished to achieve – success, progress, and an ability to save lives.

They were standing on the edge of the roof, mere inches between them and a potential fall that would kill on impact. They were alone, and a few minutes outside would hardly gain the attention of the CEO. The night air was cold and released whitened carbon dioxide for each time they exhaled. In the distance, the lights of the city were visible, showing that human life was not low in quantity.

Despite this, Evelyn appreciated the silence.

It was a privilege few people could afford.

Her younger self would have been gravely disappointed if she had the same knowledge as her present self. If she knew that she would one day become involved with voluntary manslaughter and unethical human experiments, she would not have received an unanticipated reaction. Her younger self tended to rely on her sentiments more than her current one ever could, and that became her downfall in the end.

Dr. Skirth took a new smoke and let out the polluted air from her lips, eyes looking over at the view in front of her, just as her younger colleague was before she reached the lit cigarette over to the other doctor without granting her a peep.

Evelyn shook her head at the gesture. "I don't smoke."

"Neither did I," Dr. Skirth agreed. "I promised my son that I would quit the habit, and I managed to do so for four years."

"Promises are trivial," Evelyn commented. "Nothing ensures that you will keep it."

"Promises depends on trust," the ecologist contradicted. "Someone trusts you to keep it, and if you value that trust, you keep your word."

"Not always," she heard herself saying, feeling a heavy weight settle itself on her chest. The image of a young man with IV-fluid attached to him – smiling at her like he always used to – was undoubtedly the cause of that. It was rare for something like that to physically affect her, but she was only human. It was inevitable.

"I once knew someone who trusted me with her secret," she said. "I promised her I would keep it, but doing so would inflict more damage to her than admitting the truth."

The ecologist's eyes lingered on the younger doctor through her peripheral vision for a moment. "I'm assuming that you exposed her secret, then?"

"Yes," Evelyn answered. "I did."

"You sound like you were rather personal with this individual," Dr. Skirth remarked observantly. "Was she a friend?"

"None of the sorts, but it doesn't matter. I reported her secret to the police, and in doing so, I saved her life, but she did not approve of my actions."

"I can't say I blame her," Dr. Skirth retorted cynically after another smoke. "You broke your promise and exposed her secret; a secret she trusted you enough to tell."

"I did what I had to. Keeping the promise would put her in a disadvantageous situation."

"So, that's why you decided that you simply don't care?"

Evelyn narrowed her eyes at the other woman. "That's not the reason why I did it."

Yet her words did not seem to leave a lasting impact.

Dr. Skirth's reassumed with another smoke, letting it out into the evening air. She seemed deep into thoughts for a moment – claimed by the silence that surrounded them – before she spoke again.

"I have been in the medical field for almost thirty years, I've seen countless people die, but that doesn't mean I stop caring. Emotions are part of human nature, like the cogs in a machine. Without them, we cease to be human, like a machine ceases to function without its internal mechanics."

The ecologist tapped the shortened cigarette and carelessly dropped it on the ground, stomping on it. "But if I allow these experiments to continue, then I'm not human anymore."

"Neither are you alive if you confront Drake about your opinions," Evelyn stated practically. "Put your personal pride before logic and you might as well pull those cogs out yourself."

"I'm not going to do something so spontaneous, I'm not suicidal,"

"Then I assume that you have another plan."

"I have not claimed such," Dr. Skirth said, then turned her face fully towards the younger doctor with a neutral stare. Emotions were easy to perceive but incomprehensible. "Especially not in front of someone whose loyalties may waver. Would you report me to Mr. Drake if I told you I intended on going against him?"

"That depends," Evelyn lackadaisically replied. "On whether your actions would have consequences for me."

"Every action has consequences," The ecologist pulled out another cigarette and lit it. "We are trying to save humanity using extraterrestrials but in doing so we are killing people. Sacrifices."

Evelyn pulled both her hands into her pockets, pondering on that very last word. "I don't suppose Dr. Janine Skirth knew of your objectives when she referred me to you?"

Dr. Skirth shook her head with a sigh. "We told her the basics; that we were working on an experiment to save the planet, and we required a physician to do so for physical evaluations. Someone pragmatic."

"And she did not question anything about it?"

"At first, but I managed to persuade her to believe in our cause because I did it. At the time."

Evelyn pondered at this. Dr. Janine Skirth always had the sentiments characteristically attached to her, but she was by no means a blind and naïve woman. It genuinely appalled her how she would not question anything about the experiment prior to distributing them with the information they wanted. It did not seem like the professor she recalled back a few years, but Evelyn knew better than to assume that she knew the character of an old acquaintance as though she had seen her recently. After all, their last meeting had been the day of her graduation.

But if the professor had seen Evelyn at this point, there didn't linger an ounce of doubt in her that she would have been disappointed. Opinions, in general, did not face the oncologist as much as they would the other person, but the matter was an exception if it was someone she harbored respect towards. It was a sense of respect Mr. Drake had lost from her, but which remained with the professor at John Hopkins'.

After a moment of deliberation with herself and an evaluation of the consequences, Evelyn had come to produce a conclusion. It was by no means a certain one (Which was something she vehemently disapproved of), but a plausible one. "If you do intend on going against him," she began. "How will you do it?"

But Dr. Skirth did not answer at first. There was a cold streak to spot amongst her features, one that had not been present the first time they had met. The experiments, all of what she had been witness to, it had changed the ecologist – adapted her to the circumstances. It had not taken her compassion away but shaped it selectively. "Why would I say something to someone whose loyalty is unclear? What makes you think I can trust you?"

Her suspicions were understandable, but Evelyn decided that honest answers were warranted this time. "You can't, and I'm not providing you with a reason. But if you wish to go against him, then I would advise you not to do anything irrational."

"What I don't understand is why you would want to leave; you don't seem like you're having any difficulties with doing what you're supposed to," Dr. Skirth accused her. "Janie always said you were practical, but I never imagined that you were …" She stopped speaking and a melancholic sense befell her. "He's going to kill me if he finds out."

"Most likely not," Evelyn contradicted lackadaisically. "He would most likely find some way to keep you around, whether through means like flatter or intimidation. He's already low on quantity in regard to staff and personnel, he can't afford to lose anyone else." Drake was a man who was readable, after a while. His ambitions and his means to get what he desired were in plain sight if you were observant.

_Leaving_.

After only a few days, the prospect of being back at the hospital seemed admittedly preferable above being in an environment where guns were consistently within the perimeter. Her abdomen still hurt after the incident with Treece, even though the bleeding was proven to be minor. A broken rib was plausible, but she could not afford questions.

But leaving would most likely have less than desirable results. Attempting to leave would cause LF to track her down and leave no loose threads behind. Between two uncertain paths, she would choose the one with desirable consequences. Leaving the state would also most likely not do her any good, especially considering how the LF was a prominent company; one that could undoubtedly make her life difficult should she prove herself expendable.

Everyone was expendable, but some were fortunate enough not to receive the consequences of that status. Was leaving really an option she would risk herself for?

Dr. Skirth dropped the second cigarette and stomped her left heel on it. "We … should go back."

But Evelyn did not comply at first. Her pupils were locked to the skies, counting the stars that were there, the vague glimpse of the moon. She wanted to somehow believe that there laid nothing beyond the atmosphere, and if it did, it would stay far beyond their reach. Humanity had a tendency to corrupt everything they touched, and now that they possessed unpredictable samples of life, that most likely would not be excluded.

Elliot Greenfield, Samantha Decker, Hugh Taylor, Mary Lopez, Conner Kensington, Emily Ross. Those were just a few names of the ones who had perished in the experiments, and collecting those letters in her head made her chest tighten with an indescribable sensation. This could as well be the symptoms of guilt, but she was not certain of whether that statement was absolute.

But she wanted it to cease.

If humans were the ones who brought monsters into existence, those who inflicted such peril on the world, then perhaps there was a chance for them to be rid of their creations as well. But they would have to be sly, make a loophole that would ensure victory and silence simultaneously.

"'_Now the serpent was more crafty than any other beast of the field that the Lord God had made_,'" she heard herself saying, turning back to look at the ecologist with a look of certainty on her face.

"It seems we will need a venomous snake for this if you want to succeed."

Who would imagine that, for once in her life, her grandmother's lessons would actually come into practical use?


	13. Chapter 13 - The Reporter

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom**

**A/N: So, guess who just came back from watching Avengers - Endgame! Jesus, that was one of the most amazing movies I've ever seen, and I can admit that it made me cry, it made me sweat, and it made me laugh like hell. After watching it, I became more inspired to continue. However, considering how both Venom and Avengers are Marvel-based creations, I'll be attempting to slide in some references here and there. There are a few in this chapter, if you squint your eyes tight enough. I may also include some references in this story which is linked to my other fanfiction "Rebirth", which follows the plot of the Avengers movies.**

**This chapter will follow a bit on Evelyn's internal struggles. Despite disliking the unpredictable, she's quite unpredictable herself. She wants to save people, but initially considered sacrifice as a means to do so, and now she wishes to end it because she 'thinks' it's because it's logically inconvenient for her occupation. She considers herself above lying, but she does it if she deems it important. She hates thinking of past events, but continues to do so in the chapters. She's quite a hypocrite, but she doesn't acknowledge that fact.**

**Anyway, enjoy the chapter. And as always, reviews are greatly appreciated and I truly appreciate those of who you have bothered to leave some for me to read. It always brings me joy to think that some people enjoy reading this. If you also have any questions, feel free to send them to me personally or leave them as a review.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 13 - The Reporter**

* * *

Ms. Nordstom's condition was not as stable as it should have been. Her body showed every sign of unbalance, even the way she was standing seemed to radiate with pain. Evelyn refrained from engaging in physical contact under the assessment, and Mr. Axelson had been assigned as her personal bodyguard during the examinations at the orders of Drake. After the incident with Treece, the head of security was not allowed to touch her again, let alone guard her well-being.

"D-Do you have some more c-chocolate?" Ms. Nordstrom asked her meekly, like a child asking for sweets from their parents.

Evelyn looked up from the notepad as she finished writing. "I do not."

The patient frowned at this. "T-They have forgotten to give me food again."

The pen in her grip tightened. "Then I shall remind them."

"T-Thank you, b-but could you make them give me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?"

"If it satisfies you, I'll see what I can do. I make no promises, however."

A smile came to view on the older woman's dry lips. "Lily used to l-love it when I made them, even if I was a terrible c-c-cook in general. When I got addicted again, her dad stopped m-me from seeing her. H-he's a good father, but a strict one. Can't blame h-him, I-I'm a mess."

The doctor got to her feet and prepared to walk out of there, but the patient suddenly made a request that reached her ears.

"W-Would it be alright if I sent her a letter?" she desperately pleaded.

Evelyn shook her head. "It won't be able to get past security. You are restricted from contact with contacts outside the facility."

"P-Please, it's just a short letter! I promise!" She begged. "Whenever I got a few coins on the street, I would call her and talk to her a bit. Please …. I just want her to know I love her. That's a-all I ask."

Uncharacteristically, Evelyn stopped in her steps, silent. Sending a letter could be highly risky, considering the security that was shackled around the place. She glanced down at her notes and thought … _maybe_.

She turned around, turned one of the pages on the notepad around to a blank side, and pointed the pen at the surface.

"Give me the address and be brief."

When she finally stepped out of the cell, she could tell that the security guard's eyes were locked on her. "Do you think that it will go unnoticed? What you did?" he asked her.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She said nonchalantly, passing him a brief glance before she proceeded to walk past him, but then she stopped and turned to glance back at him. "How long have you been working here?"

"That's a sudden question." His reply came off as snide in a way she couldn't comprehend.

"Just answer."

The guard hummed for a moment behind the fabric his mask consisted of. "A couple of years."

"Did you know of the Foundation's questionable methods before applying?" she asked bluntly.

"Would you be disappointed if I said I did?" he asked.

Disappointment. Such an intangible emotion. "Can you be disappointed in someone whose identity you know nothing of?"

"In that case, I can admit I had heard rumors," he stated haphazardly. "But I would say that in the short amount of time you've been here, you've learned more than I have."

"…. I see."

"If I were you, I would try to be more subtle. If you want to kill the body, you have to go for the head."

She looked at him one last time but saw nothing which indicated smugness. As she walked away, she folded the note and put it inside her coat, leaving the guard where he stood with no further adieu.

* * *

A delicate dance of falsehood and pageantry, she thought to herself as she finished writing down the last observations on her report. The scientists chattered of their achievements in the background, expressed excitement towards the progress of their experiments. Had she had an ounce of care in her, she might have joined them in their trivial conversations, but the urge to engage in social activities did not reach her interest even remotely. Much less with people who deliberately engaged in manslaughter, although she could consider herself a hypocrite for stating such.

She had managed to get food assigned to the cells but started to notice a pattern of neglect from the scientists. After some deliberation with herself, she concluded her report and made sure to repeat 'Sustenance is required on a daily'.

Mr. Markson had shown surprisingly stable vitals; his heartbeats, albeit a little pitched, showed no signs of being in an unstable state. His liver-functions, however, were less fortunate. If the existence between the symbiote and the patient proved to be cooperative, then it would mean that Drake would have something to look at before going to bed, most likely. But if the liver did not improve, then less pleasant dreams could be expected on his account.

"Ah, Doc. How're we doing?"

The pen stiffened in her grip as a voice reached her ears, but she kept herself from showing any signs of distress. She turned around and subtly glared at the Head of Security entered proximity. "Treece," she coolly greeted him. "The patient is stable, for the time being, if that is your primary concern."

"I didn't refer to the freaks," he countered smugly and stood only one step away from her. Like always, he towered over her, but his size somehow did not seem to pose a threat as it did earlier.

"Then I have little interest in indulging you your curiosity,"

"Grant me the privilege at least once," Treece shot before the doctor was successfully able to leave his presence. "I've seen you spent quite some time with Dr. Skirth as of lately."

"And?" she perked up, eyebrows raised. "I assume that you wish to inquire about the subject of our conversations?"

"Perceptive as always," he praised her. "But do indulge me my curiosity, if you would be so–"

"What Dr. Skirth and I converse about is strictly limited to the progress of the experimentations and are relevant only to those who are a part of the science group within the facility," she abruptly cut him off. "In terms you can understand, it means that you are not of relevance enough to know the full details of our conversations."

_(Fingers curling? Lips bending downwards? Forehead crinkling?)_ She knew she had hit him below the belt by revealing that his lack of importance was granting him nothing short of a disadvantage. His emotions were uncontained. It made it easier to ignite them.

"It seems," he began slowly, surprisingly collected. "that you have not learned your lesson from last time, have you, doc?"

"Lesson?" It threatened to make her scoff. "I don't take particularly well to physical reprimands."

"Then that's something that ought to be improved," he said. "A person who fails to learn their place earns no privileges around here, you know."

"Neither does the lack of competence on your part," she retorted lackadaisically, managing to mask the sass with the same neutral countenance she always wore. "The use of brute force usually indicates a lack of proper technique and strategy."

"Why you petty bit–"

"Everything alright here, Treece?"

Nothing could escalate before Drake appeared in the middle of them, standing as a wall, instantly silencing his bodyguard with no effort whatsoever. Evelyn, surprisingly, found the CEO's presence to be convenient on her part for once. Without a word said, she merely cast the security guard and unimpressed gaze before she shifted her attention elsewhere.

* * *

"How long is it now until they reach symbiosis?" Dr. Skirth asked, evidently shaking with dread as the prospect of creating a monster struck her. Evelyn did not reply at first, deciding that silence was more of an answer than any letter could provide with. Truth be told, there was no answer she could provide with that would be satisfactory, neither for Dr. Skirth nor herself. If anything, a lie would have been convenient, but she loathed the sensation of one rolling off her tongue.

"A couple of months if we remain at the same pace we are now." She explained. "The patients are showing progress, some of them."

The two women stared at each other for a disclosed amount of time, yet none of them said anything. It was as though something had claimed their voices and forced them to submit to the quiet, whether they consented to it or otherwise. As if to drown her nervousness, Dr. Skirth took a big sip from her drink, allowing a small drop to fall down the side of her lip. It was coffee, black, with only an ounce of sugar. Maybe it was enough, or maybe the sweetness was a way for her to shroud the anxiety.

Meanwhile, Evelyn's own glass contained a fair amount of Cognac. Granted, she loathed the bitter taste of alcohol much like she loathed the sensation of smoke filling her lungs. She had tried her fair share of addictive substances in the past, none which lasted longer than small periods of time at most. It had been … temporarily blissful, but forgetting reality in the wake of hardships could do little more than offer impermanent solace.

As the ecologist put her drink down, her eyes fell to the half-empty glass in the oncologist's grip. "I didn't know you drank."

"I don't," Evely replied curtly, but with a certain element of gentleness added to it. Ordinarily, she would have had no objections towards coming with some cold comment, but the will to do did not strike her as particularly benefitting. She eyed the woman and tilted the glass to her, "This, however, is an exception."

"I'll drink to that."

It seemed strange, but this temporary solace caused her heart to beat irregularly. Evelyn had to pause for a moment and deliberate before she brought the glass to her lips, head filled with thoughts she could not pronounciate aloud. Whether it was the alcohol or not, the ruse didn't simply go away at first. It was ironic, somewhat. They were supposed to commit themselves to end what they meant was a disgrace to all of humanity, yet they were currently sitting in a bar, drinking down black coffee and a pint of cognac.

This seemed so unlike her that she allowed herself this moment of relaxation in such dire circumstances. Why wasn't she working as she should? Why wasn't she currently planning on how to ensure that Drake would not have any suspicions? Why was she wasting valuable time that could otherwise be spent on trying to make use of herself? This was useless, pathetic, she could feel her fingers grip harshly around the glass as though it was on the verge of breaking to pieces.

But Dr. Skirth seemed to have discarded her earlier traits of fretfulness. In fact, she seemed quite relaxed now, smiling and looking jovial. The music in the background must have contributed to it, because in a matter of moments, the ecologist got to her feet and started to wave her arms around as though she was at a social gathering.

Evelyn didn't know whether to be horrified or slightly amused by the display. The ecologist did, perhaps, deserve some sense of happiness for once. Even as eyes began to dart towards them in the bar, she cared little unless it would somehow affect them in person. The opinions of others seldom, if ever, struck her as significant. They were inconsequential.

'_Gonna take a lot to drive me away from you,_

_There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do._

_I bless the rains down in Africa._

_Gonna take some time to do the things we never had!'_

A classic piece of music, foreign in the ears of the ignorant whilst recognizable and enjoyed to those who knew it. Evelyn could feel something tug at her chest as the memory of her brother dancing around the room to the music penetrated her head like a parasite. Toto had always been her father's favorite band, even if her mother had been less than enthusiastic about coming home to see him hum their songs in the kitchen each day while making dinner.

The sight of her colleague dancing so carelessly inevitably earned a disinterested reaction from her. This was not the time to be in a relaxed state. They had work to do, and unless they spent every second trying to make it work, they were useless.

"People die as you're dancing," she spoke coldly, not fully aware of her words until she pronounced them.

In less than a moment, Dr. Skirth stopped and her face became void of the joy she had previously inhibited. Dr. March saw her lips slip down and her face grew weary, but her answer remained firm. "We have work to do. The less frivolity is involved, the better."

"Yes – I … I suppose you're right."

Dr. Skirth sat back down again, silent as could be. "What is our next step?"

"I've managed to get a hold of the security patrols. It will not ensure that we manage to predict them precisely, but it will make them less unpredictable." She held her tongue for a moment. She disliked unpredictable patterns.

"That's something, at least." Dr. Skirth commented optimistically. "I've been trying to get some footage from the security tapes, in case we can show it to the government, but Treece…. He's been hounding me for the last couple of days. If he suspects anything,"

"Then this plan is as good as impossible." Evelyn finished for her, reaching for the glass before downing another round of her drink. The bitter aftertaste did not cease to strike her as nauseating, but she could keep her composure quite easily. Alcohol tended to easily affect her if she ever took it in large dosages, but she decided to keep it limited for the evening. "In the worse case, killing Treece might become a necessity–"

"No!" The yelp which escaped the ecologist earned them a short amount of eyes from the others in the bar, none of stared at them for long before turning their attention back to either the pool games or the television. As soon as they turned away, Dr. Skirth leaned forward and hissed, "Killing him will be too drastic!"

"It won't be too hard unless he sees it coming. Might simply put him in a temporary coma." Evelyn explained easily, as though they were conversing about the weather. "Treece's an arrogant human, dependent on addictive substances for comfort. I'm sure Drake won't find it suspicious if he died from a heroin overdose. Either that or I could simply render him partially incapacitated from the waist down if I'm precise with a scalpel and have some Rohypnol at my disposal."

"Aren't you an oncologist?"

"I did study surgery for a period, but with a rather narcissistic human as my supervisor."

She recollected the memory of the supervising surgeon as she poured the last drops of alcohol down her throat. He was a prodigious intellectual, photographic memory, and unmistakably stable hands. He was known in New York for being one of the city's most competent men in the medical field, and he had agreed to make her his intern for a time being before she turned her primary focus onto oncology. The man _was_ competent indeed, but nonetheless too prideful for his own good.

In her own terms… he was quite a _Strange_ man.

But she had respected him, granted he never seemed to harbor the same patronizing attitude towards her as he did with so many of the other understudies. His teaching had also been fairly useful during the period of time she spent there but after the … events that occurred later the same year, she left and never saw the surgeon again. It had not bothered her in the slightest, but there were few others who could match his intelligence.

"To be honest," Dr. Skirth said softly. "I didn't think you would agree on this like me."

Evelyn raised an eyebrow, indifferent. "I do believe we have different reasons for doing this, Dr. Skirth."

"For whatever reason, you still wish to end this. Why?"

"Logically, the experiments will sooner or later be made public." She explained matter-of-factly as she stared into her empty glass. "The Life Foundation would be ruined and everyone who was involved would be prosecuted accordingly, not to mention that Drake does not appear to be the man I initially anticipated. He is less of an infantile human being."

Her words seemed to inflict the ecologist with some indescribable sensation. Her shoulders were raised, her eyes seemed to widen, her fingers gripped tightly against the cup she was holding as though she wished to break it to pieces. It would have been illogical, as glass tended to easily pierce through the skin if the impact was tight enough. It wouldn't have been befitting if that was her intentions.

Even so, the oncologist was slightly perplexed with this display. "What is the matter?"

Dr. Skirth's aimed her glare down at the table. "So, you only wish to help because it will have consequences for you eventually otherwise? Is that it?" Her voice was strained as not as audible as human speech tended to be.

Evelyn blinked. "Should there be another reason?"

"What about the fact that _human lives_ are at stake?!" she hissed vehemently, making sure to keep her voice down this time. The table rattled as she pronounced her words, causing the coffee-cup in her hand to spill a few drops. "Are you truly that arrogant that you can't see past yourself and care for others for once?"

"Caring won't bring back those who are dead. Regardless of my motives, my actions will ensure that Drake won't come to use anyone else for his experiments. Shouldn't that be satisfactory enough?" Perhaps it was anger the ecologist inhibited or disappointment. It was difficult to differentiate both of them, even if the physical signs were tremendous.

Dr. Skirth seemed to allow the_ (anger? disappointment? Aggravation?)_ to ease off her. She lowered her shoulders and sat back into her seat, silent for a couple of seconds. "Perhaps it was too much to expect from someone like you." She grumbled.

"Someone like me?"

"A person who only cares about themselves." The words poured out of Dr. Skirth's mouth with deliberated slowness. "Has it ever occurred to you that your actions have consequences for those around you? The things you say and do hurt others, even if you don't notice it. Tell me, what would your family say if they knew how you treat everyone like you treated those people?"

"If that's your attempt at using sentiments as means against me, I'm afraid that it's ineffective," Evelyn responded coldly, trying to block the view of her mother crying on the floor and her father holding onto her for comfort. "And if I recall correctly, it was your interference which got me involved in all this, to begin with."

"What if Drake asked you personally whether you would consider the job, would you decline?"

Her answer did not require any deliberation. "No."

"_Why_?"

The image of Amanda Sawyer laying on her death bed reached her focus. The memory of her brother's parting had an irreversible effect on her, one she had spent years trying to escape from. Death was an enemy to life, one she did not wish to have people befall to soon unless it was inevitable. "Believe it or not, my primary goal is to save people. The reason why I volunteered for the work was because I believed that, in spite of the sacrifices, we would perhaps be able to save others. To keep them alive."

"Keeping their heart beating is not the same as saving them!"

"Neither is exposing them to alien lifeforms."

"_Will you women shut the fuck up?! I'm trying to watch the game!"_

A mutual silence befell them as the two women turned around to address the man who had interrupted their conversation. A balding man _(late thirties? early forties? Mid-fifties?)_ in a white shirt that was greased with sweat and whiskey was glaring their way. He was obviously intoxicated, which would make the situation difficult should he decide to come their way.

"Perhaps we should find someplace else to speak," Evelyn suggested

Dr. Skirth sighed. "I know a place that's not too far away."

"But first I have to make a stop someplace. I have a letter to deliver."

* * *

He was browsing through the wares, desperately looking for something to satiate his increasing hunger. The regret of having spent so much money on that damn whiskey was creeping up on him like some… some ugly… piece of shit boogeyman or something. Sure, he wasn't completely wasted yet. He ran out of stuff before he could get that far, and it made him even more pissed.

Trying to get a job went to hell, trying to reconnect with Annie went to hell, trying that damn yoga-crap Mrs. Chen suggested also went downwards, and now he couldn't even stay sober long enough to find some damn tater tots. He was soon out of them soon, and those fucking shits never lasted long anyway.

"I used to be a reporter," he muttered to himself. "I was pretty successful as well. My job required you to, you know, follow people who didn't want to be followed, hiding in plain sight."

"A poor display of soliloquy. I would advise you to refer to a psychologist." The voice on the other side of the shelf said lackadaisically.

"Yeah, maybe I should." He commented with a sarcastic chuckle. "But in my line of work, you have to know how to disappear. I was pretty good, but you, whoever you are, you suck."

As he glanced over to the other side of the shelf, he came face to face with a woman he had never seen before. There were many people he had never seen before, but this one, he was certain of it. Cold, green eyes met him, and he could have sworn the temperature just dropped a couple of degrees.


	14. Chapter 14 - Fractures

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom**

**A/N: To answer Lana Del Fae's question regarding who I envision as Evelyn March, I truly cannot say. I find it hard to envision faces for my characters. If anyone can find a face which matches the vague description of dark hair and green eyes for Evelyn, they would be welcome to put it in the comments.**

**Anyway, enjoy the chapter! **

* * *

**Chapter 14: Fractures**

* * *

The food they received an hour or so after the doctor's visit made their stomach growl even louder than it had before. It wasn't much the guards slammed on a tray inside her cell before they promptly shut the door, but it was enough to keep them going for the time being. A few slices of bread and a good – heavenly – piece of chocolate. It may have not been much, but it felt good to consume it after so many days of almost nothing.

This human was already breaking down internally; one of her kidneys was already reduced to nothing and her liver was starting to look tempting as well, albeit malnourished. For whatever reason, the symbiote experienced something akin to pity for the female host's state of being, primarily because it was its own doing which resulted in her misery. However, external factors were not to be excluded.

This "Charlton Drake" was not someone to be trifled with, not in this state. Perhaps, given another host, Venom could easily dismantle him from his stand. It would be an easy thing to muster, considering how puny that human being was in comparison to the likes of its subordinates. This female's body was expendable for the time being, but keeping on to until it had another host in sight would be the wisest course of action.

"Are-Are you going to k-kill me?" the host asked stiffly.

"_**No,"**_ Venom replied solemnly. _**"For the time being."**_

"B-But am I g-g-going to die?"

"_**Possibly, unless we are given more sustenance shortly,"**_

"M-Maybe that doctor can give us something," she suggested hopefully, gripping her fingers around her arms in search of warmth she was not provided with from the outside. "W-We could ask her again for something."

"_**The Doctor,"**_ it pondered thoughtfully. On multiple occasions had it considered her a plausible host, but it already assumed that it would not survive symbiosis. It was unlikely, considering how the rest of them had perished like flies. If the doctor died, then it would not be able to find another host. It would become too risky to attempt, even if given the opportunity.

All hosts were expendable, but the doctor was, perhaps, the only one of them who was reasonable. A broken human, there was no doubt about that, but nonetheless a cooperative one currently. Using her as a host would be risky in case she proved to be incompatible, but the chances were there should Venom ever consider them.

But if there was one thing to consider, it would be the state of Riot's mood if he ever saw them again. Their leader would not be pleased with this change of events if he were present to witness the state of captivity the rest of them were in. Phage was already gone, as far as Venom could sense. An unpredictable and vicious fighter amongst them, but they were no less excluded from the dangers of an atmosphere filled with oxygen.

Lasher was still alive, but trapped in a host who showed less potential than this one currently did. Their chances of survival weren't any better, it seemed, but the black symbiote couldn't care less about them. If the sorry sucker died, then it would undoubtedly make the world a less miserable place.

Not that it would last for long either way.

"M-Maybe we could ask her to give u-us some m-more," Maria repeated as though Venom had failed to acknowledge her previous words. However, it considered her proposition closely.

"A-Aliens like yourself," she started hesitantly. "Do you feel love?"

"_**We do not understand the concept of such," **_Venom answered. _**"Unlike humans, we do not require a partner in order to reproduce."**_

"But you w-would if you could, right?" she inquired pathetically. "There's joy in having someone to depend on."

"_**Does this information serve a purpose? You are thinking of your offspring."**_

"R-Reading my mind again, are you?"

"_**We share no secrets. We are one, for the time being."**_

"True," she sighed longingly. "I wish to see her."

"_**That is impossible,"**_ Venom coldly contradicted. _**"We are stuck here, and unless these incompetent caretakers provide us with sustenance soon, we will both perish."**_

"But I-I don't want to die,"

"_**You die, I die. I die, you die. That is how it is."**_

The female suddenly scoffed. "Bet you're fun at parties."

It ignored her comment but found itself puzzled by something mentioned earlier. _**"But tell me what's it like."**_

She perked up. "What is like what?"

"_**Love. What is it like?"**_

"Y-You really don't know?" Her reply was sarcastic but equally bemused. She tucked her hands under her legs for warmth and started thinking. "It's to care fo-for something, far more than for yourself. Y-You wish to protect them," A smile stretched across her lips as she spoke of this. "You would sacrifice yourself for them if it meant that they would live."

"_**Sacrifice?"**_ It questioned. _**"Why 'care' for something if it only brings you problems?"**_

"You won't b-be ignorant of the trouble," she explained. "You will know it, but you will continue."

"_**But why?"**_

"I… honestly don't know," she said earnestly. "Love is … unpredictable. It may c-cause you unimaginable pain and sadness, but it w-will also cause you joy and happiness at the same time. Like eating the chocolate whilst savoring the flavor, I suppose." As she said the last part, she let out a laugh and covered her mouth.

All that Venom could think about was how unbelievable this species was.

"But also," she continued as she calmed down. "I s-s-suppose, like you, h-humans c-can't survive alone. Not entirely."

"_**You can't?" **_It asked with disbelief. _**"What if you have all the sustenance in the world?"**_

She shook her head. "It won't matter. Love, pain, sadness, those are all s-something everyone h-has to go through. If y-you choose to p-push them away, then you-you're not truly human, and you're not t-truly alive."

As Venom heard this, It began to ponder on the subject. It would not leave its mind, and soon enough, all focus on food and sustenance left its focus. It was an occurrence which rarely – if ever – occurred.

* * *

Upon knocking on the door, the doctor waited. At first, there was a couple of seconds of silence, followed by the sound of light footsteps scurrying over towards the door. A lock from the inside unlocked and a young, brown-haired girl with a tie in her hair opened up. She was considerably short, looking as though she was less than seven years old or so. The doctor found it hard to differentiate the age of children by looking at them, as it was significantly more challenging than doing so on an adult.

The little girl stared up at her but did not step out of that door. It was an intelligent trait witnessed amongst few children her age. "Daddy isn't home right now," she explained softly. "Are you his new girlfriend?"

Evelyn blinked. "Excuse me?"

"He gets a lot of them, one for each night,"

Not interested in receiving more information regarding the young girl's father's nocturnal activities, Evelyn merely asked, "Are you Lily Nordstrom?"

"I am," said the girl affirmatively. "Who are you?"

"I have a letter from your mother," Without a moment of reluctance, Evelyn reached her hand forward with the letter tucked between her thumb and index finger.

At the mention of this, the little girl's eyes widened with disbelief. "From mommy?" She took the letter with both of her hands and gazed at it, thoughtfully. "Do you know what it says?"

"I didn't read it," Evelyn answered and shook her head. "It was for you,"

The girl looked at her for a brief second with wide, blue eyes, and then returned her attention to the unopened letter. Within a few seconds, she tore it open and her eyes scanned across the content. The moment her pupils stood still, her sclera began to redden, and tears visibly built themselves up in the corner of her eyes.

She began to rub her hands into her eyes as she started to whimper and sniff, trying to dry the tears away before they could fall. She failed, however, and they started to flow down her cheeks and drip to the floor. But a second had passed when she began to wail there in the doorstep, loud enough to wake the entire apartment-complex up.

What happened next occurred to Evelyn as particularly shocking.

Without notice, the little girl lunged at her and wrapped her arms around the doctor's waist, hugging her tightly as though letting go could cost her her life.

"T-Thank you!" the little girl sobbed. "Thank you so much."

Evelyn, for a moment, instinctively tried to pry her off of her. The pain she had received from Treece which she had tried to remedy for the past couple of days returned and it subsequently prompted her to get the child away from her. It wasn't because she was ignorant of the girl's sentiments, but primarily because it was not the sort of contact she found common in her life. Close contact initiated attachment, and it was not the concept she found herself wanting to possess.

But as she placed her hands on top of the girl's shoulders, her eyes fell on top of the words written on the letter which Ms. Nordstrom had handed to her. Just three words written over the lines without anything else written at all. No names, no place, just three, simple words.

'_I love you'_

It was so brief, yet it was enough to warrant these sorts of … emotions? Was it sadness the girl was currently experiencing, or was it relief? Tears were usually an indication of pain or melancholy.

Evelyn couldn't understand.

The last time she had heard those words, it was from a person who was lying on his death-bed. Tubes and wires were attached to his skin, his face was gaunt, and it made him appear thrice as old as he actually was.

She had been standing by his bedside for longer than she would have cared to admit. Her parents had stepped out of the room, unable to face the inevitable before them, but she had stayed with him through all of it.

Despite all of the pain he had suffered, he had smiled at her with the most benevolent face she had ever seen. It was the sort of smile she never knew could ever graze a world as cruel as this one.

"_No matter what happens,_" he had said to her. _"__**I love you**__."_

But as he died, she had not experienced anything remotely associated with pain or sadness. In fact, perhaps it was the same kind of relief this little girl was experiencing which she experienced back then?

Had Evelyn cried when she had watched him close his eyes for the final time? She couldn't … quite recall.

Unexpectedly, instead of prying the child away from her as she had originally intended to, Evelyn put her arms over her and allowed her to cry. She could feel the tears stain her coat and the warmth resonates into her own being.

It was not much of comfort she could offer, but simply standing there, she was under the impression that the presence of someone else tended to relieve someone of the pain of being alone.

_Alone_ …

* * *

After she left the run-down apartment-complex, there was a moment where Evelyn paused in her steps. Despite herself, what happened earlier had somehow affected her. To what degree? She could not specify it, but it was enough to make her reach for her cellphone and write down a number.

Evelyn hadn't called them in a long while, a couple of months give or take. There was not a moment as of recently she had wished to type it down and make the call, and these circumstances were not of the sort where she expected to first think of it.

Perhaps the thought was produced from the fact that she had just seen a child mourn the absence of her mother? Neither of her own parents was proclaimed deceased, so why didn't she…

The doctor stared down at the small screen where the numbers were displayed, along with the caption of '_Rose March_'. Her thumb hovered over the green call-button with less than an inch. It would be so easy to press it, almost pathetically so.

After everything she had been through, this seemed like the most challenging thing to do. Was this fear she was experiencing? Evelyn could not put a name on her inability to press a simple button, but there she stood, still and unmoving.

With an exhale through her nose, she shut her phone and placed it back into her pocket. If there were familial arrangements to be made, these were not the circumstances for such.

* * *

Privileged clothing, stern exterior, it didn't require a lot of effort in deducing who the woman was. Personally, Eddie could give less of a rat's ass about who she was as a person, but her demeanor resembled that of a porcelain doll. Cold to the touch but a beauty to behold. Had it not been for the fact that she was visibly glaring his way for no apparent reason, he might have offered her some of his time willingly.

Before he could ask her anything, she seized the moment and did so before he could.

"You are Edward Brock," she stated without an ounce of uncertainty. "Is that correct?"

He frowned as she mentioned his name so formally. "Yeah, and? What's it to you?" A lot of people knew his name, both prior and post the scandal which occurred six months ago. It wouldn't surprise him if this shrew was yet another person who wished to reprimand him for the guts he showed in Charlton Drake's presence that day.

The woman either deliberately ignored his aloofness or simply didn't notice it. Without warning, she quickly grabbed him by his arm and dragged him to the other side of the shelf, causing him to yelp. As he ripped his arm out of her grip and prepared to yell at her to back the fuck off, he was startled upon seeing another woman standing beside her. He swore he had seen her someplace else, but he failed to recall where.

"And, you are?" he asked.

"He's incompetent for this," the woman who dragged him quickly interfered, arms crossed over her chest as she spoke. "We can't use him."

"What's this supposed to be? Human trafficking?" he asked snidely. "'cause, I gotta tell, half of my organs are shut down and I'm not particularly into men."

"The vocal cords are easily susceptible to external penetration, so unless you keep quiet, I might render you permanently mute." The cold woman said with a haphazard glare. "But do us all a favor and stay so voluntarily."

"I don't know about you, but I'm not really swayed with threats."

"Neither was Charlton Drake, as I'm sure you are already aware of it by now."

That comment did little if not anger him further. The last thing he needed to hear now was the name of the very same guy who had been responsible for ruining his life. As he opened his mouth to give that lady some backlash, the one with the glasses suddenly stepped towards him and handed him what seemed like a card with her contact information.

"My name is Dora Skirth," she gestured to the woman standing beside her. "This is my colleague, Evelyn March."

"My would-be killer or something?" he questioned sardonically and crossed his arms over his chest as he glared at the other woman.

"Killing you would require more effort than I'm willing to spend," the doctor replied indifferently before looking at her colleague. "I sincerely hope that you have thought this through. Mr. Brock isn't exactly renowned for his discretion."

"I know, but…" Dr. Skirth paused and turned back to Mr. Brock. "We need your help."

"Help?" he asked. "What kind of help?"

"It involves the Life Foundation," Dr. March answered firmly.

"It does?" His eyes widened.

"Yes."

"Wow, good for you. We're done."

And with that, he made a bolt for the entrance door, leaving the two doctors behind like a pair of abandoned pups.

Dr. March's eyes trailed over to the ecologist with a disinterested look, having already predicted the outcome before it arrived. "Meeting him here was a coincidence, but did you sincerely imagine that he would aid us, considering his past with the Foundation?"

But Dr. Skirth only let out a sigh before she chased after him out the door.

* * *

The ex-reporter was never one for jogging as a hobby, but after experiencing what it was like to have someone follow closely behind, he was seriously considering it.

"Mr. Brock, please listen to me," the four-eyed woman pleaded, but he didn't as much as bat an eye. "Everything that you accused him of, you were right. It's all true."

"I don't care anymore," he haphazardly responded with, hoping that it would shake her off him.

Unfortunately, he was wrong.

"He's got a lab filled with poor people," she explained hurriedly as she scurried closer towards him. "And they're all signing waivers that they don't understand. He's using them like guinea pigs, and they are dying." Upon acknowledging that word, he finally stopped and faced her, needing affirmation as to know that he had not heard wrong.

"They are all dying."

"You've seen that?"

"Yes."

"There's been approximately eighteen people thus far who have been proclaimed deceased after the experiments,"

They both turned their heads around to spot the other doctor headed their way. She stopped the moment the reached proximity. "Their lives are trivial unless they don't perish," she explained. "That's what Drake seems to agree with. Your assistance might save a lot of lives."

"And why should I believe you?" he asked curtly.

"Because it's true," Dr. Skirth answered. "I believed in him, I told myself it was worth it because we were curing cancer, but now this is different. Something else." The fear was noted from a mile away, Eddie could not deny it. However, as much as she was afraid, he was skeptical.

"Go to the cops," he suggested.

"If the police become involved, it will only increase the amount of danger we will be in," Dr. March noted sharply with a stern face. "Consider the risk we are taking by simply speaking of this to anyone else. Drake is one of the most dangerous men in this city, and the amount of influence he has is consequential compared to that of the police force. That's why we arguably need someone with your _skills_."

"Yeah, I already know how dangerous he is, I knew that from the first interview I had with him." By now, the two of them were visibly glaring at one another. Although Dr. March found it much easier to conceal her displeasure, Eddie was by no means afraid to say shit like it was, or show it for that matter. "I lost my career, my relationship, my apartment. Charlton Drake ruined me, and took away everything I cared about."

"Considering how none of it would have happened if you had not allowed your impulsive tendencies to take over your sense of ration, or lack thereof, I would almost say that the blame is on yourse–" But before she could so casually finish and before Eddie was on the verge of doing something he would inevitably regret, Dr. Skirth pulled at her colleague's arm and ushered her to keep quiet. Surprisingly, the other doctor obliged.

But that was all Eddie needed to conclude the case. With the wave of his arms, he promptly stepped back. "Find yourself another knight in shining armor, 'cause I'm done with this shit of helping my fellow man. Good night."

And with that, he left.


	15. Chapter 15 - Shattered

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom**

**A/N: And we're back with another chapter. I've been thinking about a major character who will make his grand appearance sooner or later, both in this story and in the movies as well: A certain red-haired sociopath with a knack for sadism and murder. Although he isn't mentioned in the story (yet), he and Evelyn do share a history. And as you've read, I have included references from the _Venom: Lethal Protector comics. _More will come in good time, but I am not about to spoil it all for you ;)**

* * *

**Chapter 15: Shattered**

* * *

It did not exactly strike her as particularly plausible that anyone – much less Mr. Brock – would aid them in that scheme of theirs. His history with the Foundation became an obstacle, and unless he could see past himself and his pride, then the chances of him actually coming around to help them would remain at a considerably low point.

After the predicament was finished, Dr. Skirth was courteous enough to drive her home, even if the offer had initially been declined. Considering the moderate amount of alcohol she had consumed, Evelyn would not risk driving herself even though she was far from being in an intoxicated state. Calling a cab would have been preferable, but it would cost money she was less than willing to spend.

The drive on the way to her neighborhood was silent; you could drop a needle and hear it fall to the floor. No words were exchanged between the two of them and it seemed like they weren't inclined to engage in anything either. Even though they had the same goal, they would, by no means, address each other as the likes of 'friends'. They were colleagues. That was the closest thing they could mutually agree on as a designation.

A few minutes into the drive, the silence was finally broken by the ecologist. "Do you live with anyone?" she questioned without taking her eyes off the road. "Do you have someone who can stay with you? It might be dangerous to be alone right now."

At first, Evelyn intended to stay quiet and avoid the question. She did not feel pressured to answer, not after their disagreement back at the bar. However, whether it was out of courtesy or simple boredom, she found herself complying with an answer that suited her. "You need not concern yourself with the state of my well-being," She arrowing her eyes at the driver with a scrutinizing gaze, analyzing her for any change in behavior as a response to her answer. "My home is secluded but secure."

Dr. Skirth did not seem to find the gesture to be an offensive one. "Even so, it would be safer to have someone stay with you for the time being. Could you call a friend to keep you company?"

"That is most unlikely." For a short moment, her thoughts fell to Dr. Lewis and Ms. Weying. Although she did not doubt they would be generous enough to offer her help if she requested it, she quickly discarded the possibility. "Involving anyone else might place them under the LF's radar. It would be inconvenient."

The ecologist rolled her eyes, a move which became visible in the rear-view mirror to the other passenger.

Evelyn did not let this go overlooked. Her eyes met the ecologist's in the mirror, and although her mouth was shut, the driver's current mood and state of mind was clear as daylight _(avoidance? disgust? spite?)_. She was as easy to read as a blank piece of paper.

"You wish to say something," she concluded without any second-guessing.

"There are many things I wish to say, but few of which I will," Dr. Skirth muttered almost incoherently, her hands tightening around the steering wheel with her nails clawing into the leather. It was strange to see her in such a state of agitation, but not unexpected.

The oncologist merely observed her behavior. "You are under no obligation to keep opinions to yourself. Speak if you must, or stay silent if you wish. It doesn't matter to me."

Her words seemed to trigger a chain of reaction from the ecologist. "Nothing ever does, _does_ _it_?" she said tightly, her teeth gritted. "Everything is just business with you. Nothing is personal, so you can't find it in yourself to care for anyone other than yourself."

If the debate regarding their separate motivations was to reoccur again, then Evelyn was less than interested in keeping the conversation going. However, she was curious regarding a certain matter. "Are you provoked by it?"

"To put it lightly. I can see why Drake favors you so much. You are just like him in so many ways."

"Drake is impulsive," Evelyn disagreed without putting much effort in making it noticeable. "He believes he can take on the mantle of a God; save humans from their own destruction whilst creating a new world for them. I do not rely on divinity for motivation."

"Yet you don't rely on morals either." Dr. Skirth's dissatisfaction seemed to increase at an excelling rate _(eyes twitching? knuckles turning white? appendages tightening?)_. The woman the oncologist once viewed as meek seemed to possess a bone-structure after all. "Does it ever occur to you that caring for others might do you some good?"

"As I said before,-" Evelyn did not even bother glancing the other way in her seat as she spoke. "- Caring for others does not guarantee success. If anything, it creates more boundaries. They demand something from me which I am unable to give."

"That's not true." The ecologist stated, shaking her head in disagreement. "To love something is not a weakness. It's a strength. It keeps you going, even when everything else goes to hell. Without love, you have nothing that drives you. No hope. No trust. It's part of being human."

Those words left a bitter aftertaste, even though it was not Evelyn who had said them. She glared at the other woman through her peripheral vision and tried not to make her disdain for such ideals visible. Instead, she resorted to using words which, although inconsiderate, were honest.

"Then, perhaps, being human is not something I specify as a priority."

Her answer must have affected the ecologist to a certain point because a subtle gasp escaped Dr. Skirth and she fell silent at her side of the car. Only her pattern of breathing was audible, albeit considerably weak.

It stayed like that for quite a few moments, subsequently prompting the oncologist to assume it would remain that way for the remainder of the trip. The subject of the conversation was a tedious one at any rate, so there was little else to discuss unless they could find something to agree with. But for the moment, preventing Drake from further continuing his experiments seemed like the only thing they shared of interest.

Then suddenly, Dr. Skirth spoke up again, having been relieved of the agitation which plagued her earlier. "I don't believe you mean it," she said, sighing softly. "You can't mean that you are entirely devoid of love. Surely you love – or have loved – someone in your life."

There was that word again. Upon processing it, Evelyn did a subtle double-take on the driver. Her eyes sharpened, yet they harboring no hostility. She did not understand why, but the tight feeling in her chest returned as those four letters aligned themselves inside her head.

_ Love – An intense feeling of deep affection._

Evelyn glanced down at her hands, both of which had been bruised and discolored over the course of the last several weeks of overworking. They were not the sort of hands you would imagine a young woman would have. To 'love' someone with these sorts of hands - hands which had contributed to killing so many people, even if indirectly.

The prospect of such was … incomprehensible.

And even so, the image of a young boy entered her head. A boy she had admired as a child, and whom she had continued to admire even as he laid on his deathbed, too weak to even move properly. His last moments in this world had been spent in pain and writhing agony, something he had not deserved. He had always been generous, kind and loving. Their parents could never have asked for a better son.

"_No matter what happens, I love you."_

Her lips quivered, even though it was not cold inside the vehicle. Her mouth felt try, her nails began to dig into each other, her eyes were both focused on anything other than what laid around her.

"Once," she finally responded after what felt like an eternity of deliberate silence.

"Really?" Dr. Skirth did not anticipate that answer, which was made evident by the way she glanced over to the other passenger with a look of disbelief and sympathy. "Do you still love them?"

"Can you ... Still love someone who does not live? How is it more love than melancholy?" Her voice had been reduced to whispers, broken undertones.

The ecologist froze upon listening. She wanted to inquire further on the subject, ask what kind of person could possibly earn the love of someone who reminded her so much of someone devoid of humanity. Was this a lie, perhaps? A way to make her satisfied instead of providing her with a genuine answer, which would have rather left her dissatisfied instead but quiet.

Dora did not respond to any of those urges. "Loving someone often brings the pains of sorrow, but that's a piece of it. You can't take anything without giving anything in return. Even if they are ... deceased." She hesitated. "Could I ask … who was i– "

"_No_,"_ (fingers curling? arms shaking? lips quivering?)_. There was a tight knot in Evelyn's stomach, one she had only experienced once long ago and was less than enthusiastic about experiencing again. She wanted it gone completely, to erase it from existence. The knot was accompanied with a nauseous sensation which made her clench her arms around her stomach. A cold shiver echoed through her body, rendering her skin numb and her lacking any saliva.

"... Please," she whispered. "… don't ask anymore."

Dr. Skirth was about to open her mouth, to ask her what was so wrong that she would keep her cynicism to herself. But as her eyes trailed over to the oncologist, she was surprised. For the brief period of time she had known Evelyn March, few things were apparent from their first encounter. She was cold and unpredictable, but the look in her green eyes again, Dora refrained from asking anything else.

However, as she looked over at the other passenger's face one last time in the mirror before reassuming her focus on the road, Dora thought for a split second she had seen traits of tears in the crook of the other woman's eyes. Those green orbs were … mournful. They had grown distant and unreadable, but heavy at the same time. Most people wouldn't have been able to notice it unless they squinted their eyes tight enough, but there was no mistake about what she was seeing.

March was in _pain_. Not the kind of pain which stood equal to the feeling of a knife through your back, but the feeling of a knife through your soul. It was an unimaginable sort of feeling. One which not even the worst sort person deserved to know of. But judging by how subtle her reaction was, this was not the first time she had experienced such.

Because of it, Dora could not help but pity her.

* * *

"Are you sure that woman is worth keeping after all this?" Marley did not break eye-contact with the glass of alcoholic beverage he held in his grip, holding it with a delicate balance. This may have been his third drink so far, but it failed to leave any lingering effects on him. High tolerance for liquor was something he considered both a blessing and a curse on his part, more of the latter than anything. "She might become an obstacle as Treece anticipates."

"She might," Drake agreed. "Or she might not. It's all up to chance."

Marley scoffed at the statement. "Nothing's ever up to chance. What if the coin ends up on the wrong side? What then?"

Drake did not respond at first. He was silent, too silent for the COO's comfort. It was not unusual for silence to claim him, but it was nonetheless threatening when it did. It gave off the impression that he had something lingering at the back of his head which he considered.

As Drake read the reports he had received earlier that day with information regarding the subjects' recent progress, and he could not help but to find the results somewhat dissatisfying for his taste. Although the results currently held neutral ground, neither good nor particularly bad, he had been anticipating more positive outcomes. They had already lost one of their specimens; losing the other two would shatter everything. All they had sacrificed would be for nothing.

However, as he read over the reports attained directly from Dr. March, his confidence reappeared. Her methods seemed to affect the subjects better than the orthodox approaches of his other subordinates. Sustenance was something they seemed to neglect, which she made a prominent point of in each of the documents, but other than that, he was satisfied. "Dr. March feels … conflicted, as do we all," he explained as he folded the papers together and put them back down on the table. "It's only part of human nature to feel challenged by what would go against our own moral codes."

"I wasn't under the impression that she had any to begin with." Marley took yet another sip. "She seems more like a machine than anything to me."

"All _humans,_-" he empathized heavily on that particular word. "- have some sort of rule they abide by," Drake poured himself a glass of whiskey, sipping off it before returning his attention to his second-in-command. The bitterness had an effect on him which he favored above the sensations which other addictive substances failed to provide him with. "Some murderers refrain from killing children, for example, while some scientists refrain from testing their creations on animals. It's all a matter of how noble each person is."

"And what about March, then?" Marley asked inquisitively. "What would you say her code is?"

Drake didn't even have to ponder on the subject before he responded. "Detachment." His answer slipped off his tongue as easily as singing.

His companion blinked at his reply. "Elaborate, Carlton, if you wouldn't mind."

"Humans are easy to read, once you know what you need to look for. Even she isn't as unpredictable as she would like to imagine." Drake explained as he walked around in the room, occasionally casting glances of all the achievements and the trophies he had achieved over the course of the years. They hung around in the room for his eyes and anyone who came there.

But they were trivial. His accomplishments could not be weighed in gold or papers, but legacies and history.

"March keeps a safe distance between herself and the subjects. It creates a barrier that makes it easier to produce the results she's looking for – that _we_ are looking for."

"And are you certain of that?" Marley held the glass to his lips, but did not drink this time. "Humans are unpredictable, as you said, regardless of how well you are able to read them."

"That may be true, but I rest my case." Drake turned to look through the transparent wall of his office, where he could easily observe the exterior of the facility from a considerable height. It was peaceful out there, a quiet space for him to gather his thoughts. The stars were aligned in the dark skies, reminding him of how he used to marvel them as a child

. "For March, I do not fret," he remarked with zero doubt. "Dora, however," He let out a sigh as the thought of being rid of one of his most prominent scientists struck him as plausible. "I have known her for many years; she's more prone to emotional outbursts than anyone I know. _She_ might become problematic."

"Do you wish for me to take care of it?" Marley asked as though he was discussing the weather.

Drake shook his head at the offer. "Not yet," he said. "She's one of our best; she's not expendable until I say she is."

He stepped back from the window headed towards the exit of the office, gesturing his companion to tag along.

As they walked down the corridors of the facility and headed down the elevator to where the subjects were contained, Drake knew that he would have to witness the miracles for himself once more. He relished the sight of them like a child relished the sight of presents at their disposal. He was free to do so in general, but standing there alone with them provided him with a sense of superiority.

The doors to the corridors outside the cells opened after granting him access and he stepped inside. It was quiet inside there, dim-lighted and secluded. He walked past each cell with scrutinizing eyes, searching for any indications that there was anything amiss. When he found none, he continued forward with Marley following behind him like a lost pup.

As he passed the cell which contained the recently-deceased SYM-AO3, he grew resentful and felt a tight knot of anger boil up inside of him. Upon observing the corpse of what had once been a valuable piece of extraterrestrial life, the urge to vomit nearly struck him. It had died while under their supervision, and the scientists had just watched it as it did so. Those idiots he called his subordinates named themselves 'competent' when they could not even keep one of the world's most important specimen alive.

The arrogance.

Without wishing to look at it further, Drake continued down the hall and stopped in front of SYM-A02's cell. The subject was sleeping soundly, and its vitals were currently stable. It was a good sign that convinced him symbiosis was still achievable. SYM-A02 was far from their most docile specimen, but it was far from as horrid as SYM-A03 had been. Oh, how the subject had _screamed_ upon being merged with it.

Without making a sound, Drake proceeded forward until he reached the last of them.

He stopped in front of the cell which contained none other than SYM-A01, their most prominent one of them all. The host had been the one to last the longest, and for that, the CEO experienced immense pride surging through him.

Drake positioned himself in front of the door where he observed subject T790129 in the furthest corner of the cell. She was neither unconscious nor asleep, which indicated that her body had yet to grow accustomed to the changes it was enduring. Dr. March had enlisted the subject as the one with the highest tolerance of them all and she remained relatively sane.

Although he kept a smirk spread across his lips upon watching the subject from where he said, the same could not be said for his COO, whose eyes were twice their original size and whose body had taken a significant step back from the glass. His fear easily overcame him, which was something the CEO had always found to be unbearably disappointing about him – about all humans in general.

"Isn't it beautiful, Charlie?" Drake asked in a state of amazement as he continued to marvel at the subject. "A true miracle."

As he spoke, the subject's attention was gained and she quickly got up to her feet, shaking with a sense of uncontrollable panic as her eyes fell on the two men outside the cell. She tried backing herself further up against the wall, but without much success. Whether this was an act based on the subject's own fear or the symbiote's, Drake could not conclude for certain.

He tapped on the glass a couple of times. "Subject T790129, can you hear me?" he asked, making sure to speak as clearly as he could.

The subject quivered but managed to nod. "I- I can hear you."

"Excellent," He placed his palm against the glass. "And what of the symbiote?"

There was a moment where she went completely still, but then she nodded again, looking down at the floor.

"Remarkable," he gasped.

The CEO reluctantly turned his back to the glass and glimpsed victoriously over at his colleague, who was considerably pale and whose face had stiffened up. If pride could materialize itself, there would have been a glowing sign standing on top of Drake's head by then. "Are you not amazed, Charlie? Of how far we have gotten?"

With shivering lips, the COO opened his mouth to answer. Before he could, his eyes trailed to what stood behind the glass and he had barely been granted the chance to make a sound when the sound of impact against the wall behind them reached the CEO's attention.

On instinct, Drake snapped his head around and came face to face with whoever had interrupted the short-lived silence that had previously claimed the atmosphere.

Subject T790129 was standing within inches against the glass, breathing so heavily it fogged the transparency of the wall. White, ominous scleras met Drake's own eyes, and he could tell with certainty that those were not the eyes of the subject itself. Knowing this, he regained his composure. There was not an ounce of anxiety to be found amongst his facial features; no terror; no reluctance; no disgust. He simply watched the subject like a child gawking an animal in the zoo for the first time.

"You have almost reached symbiosis," he remarked in amazement, uttering the words barely above the volume of a whisper. "You are almost ready."

The subject did not respond at first but merely glared at him with the sort of expression he never imagined Subject T790129 was capable of producing. Dr. March had noted in her reports that the subject was docile in comparison to the others; neither aggressive nor hostile to the point where she made the effort to attack or attempt escape.

"_**You are,"**_ The subject began to speak. _**"Charlton Drake."**_

The CEO sagged in his stance. The floor felt like it was swaying beneath him._ It spoke_. He had never heard them speak before, any of them. They could comprehend the human language, or perhaps any language depending on the host. "You truly understand us."

"_**Yes … we**_ _**understand****.****"**_ Its voice was significantly deeper than that of the subject, although it retained its feminine undertones.

This was beyond anything Drake had initially expected. He had anticipated the state of the humans to improve, that was certain, yet he had never truly imagined that the symbiotes could possess sentience so … _human_. They could understand their language, learn their ways, _improve_ them. They could inflict humanity with the changes they had failed to bestow upon themselves.

They could save the world. A world the humans had been destroying themselves for far too long.

"I'm glad," Drake said as he beheld the sight of the symbiote's union with the subject in full detail. He had nearly forgotten reality as he stood there. "I'm glad you under–"

"_**We understand what you are, **_**Carlton Drake**_**."**_ The creature sharply interrupted him, catching the CEO off-guard with its hostility.

"I don't–"

The subject proceeded to slam its hand at the glass with such an inhuman force that it left a visible crack on the surface of the glass. The subject's mouth spread from ear to ear in a menacing grin, displaying rows of razor-sharp teeth that resembled those of a shark. "_**You are nothing more but a piece of meat**_**," **the symbiote hissed darkly, taking pleasure in seeing the human in an alarming state. _**"Just **_**waiting**_** to be eaten."**_

The sight left Drake lacking any voice, more so than he imagined possible. For something so inhuman, the symbiote seemed to possess traits which were most commonly found amongst humans. Whether it was a trait it had picked up recently or possessed prior to its captivity, he was not certain of which one was correct.

Although he had managed to retain his calm, Marley was far from as restrained as himself.

* * *

After she parted ways with Dr. Skirth, Evelyn had tried her best to ease her mind of the unfathomable sensation it was experiencing. An hour and a half had been spent productively, and it had distracted her long enough to make her slightly distracted from the tightness in her.

She had been taking notes of the security patrols, memorized each pattern until she knew them without looking, and done her best to try and search for loopholes which would make infiltration possible without detection. It wasn't certain that all of the protocols would be followed strictly over the course of the rest of the week, but it was better than the nothing they had started with.

Getting her hands on the schedules had been no particularly difficult task, especially considering how dense the majority of the security guards seemed to become in the presence of a woman such as herself. She had practically swapped the paper in front of their noses without them noticing, and it did little to convince her of their competence. If receiving the information in the first place had been that simple, then she doubted they would be particularly strict on their shifts.

However, reading the papers had never served as a primary goal to her. It was a mere distraction, because Evelyn could not understand why there had been a knot in her stomach and a grip around her chest ever since she had exited Dr. Skirth's car. More so, she did not understand why they would not cease to exist. She had tried to produce multiple conclusions and explanations in regard to what could have caused them to appear, everything from Angina Pectoris to simple aftereffects of the internal bleeding she had yet to remedy. Even digestive problems caused by her lack of proper sustenance had been considered. Those were the primary possibilities, yet she wasn't completely convinced that she was afflicted with either of those.

She tried restricting her breathing, thinking that it could contribute to lessening the sensation, yet it did nothing. Her arms felt numb, her skin was soft to the touch despite her fingers being dry, cracked and bruised after too many hours of work. Blaming the entirety of her injuries on the wounds Treece had inflicted her with was something she wished to do, yet it would be like a child blaming their missing homework on the dog.

Scratching the surface of her forehead, she leaned back into her seat with the pencil in her grip, pondering on the predicament. The lack of sound in the house reminded her of her solitude and the fact that none knew of what was about to happen, or what _could_ happen. Ignorance was bliss for her if it provided her with the silence she required to make progress with her work, although it also seemed to irk her for some unfathomable reason.

But whether it was the silence or the physical numbness that kept plaguing her, she couldn't unravel the mystery. For once in her life, she lacked the answers. She found no conclusion to the anomaly which was affecting her body, and it bothered her. After years of trying to become all-knowing in regard to both medicine and anatomy, from cell-production to chemistry, this particular incident left her with no clue as to what to make of it.

Gritting her teeth with such immense force it felt like she was going to break them altogether, she firmly placed the pencil back on the paper and tried to continue writing her. But as she placed the tip of it on the sheet, the tip snapped off. The small piece of coal started to roll down the side of the table until it slipped to the floor, leaving behind a ghost of an echo.

Then everything went silent to the point where she could only make the sound of her own heartbeats. That little – _insignificant_ – occurrence wasn't supposed to trouble her at all. It was simply a piece of coal, not anything more than that. It wasn't like spilling water over your computer or watching your favorite clothes get ripped from the seams. She could simply sharpen it again and it would be like nothing happened.

Even so, that little – _insignificant_ – occurrence of breaking her pencil triggered an uncharacteristic she couldn't imagine would ever befall her.

Without thinking, she tightened her hold of it and proceeded to throw the pencil as hard as she could to the opposite side of the room. She watched it crash against the wall and leave behind no trace on the white paint other than a gray dot. Then it simply descended to the floor and rolled slightly before it stilled completely.

She rested her face against her hand, trying her best to rid herself of the tremor which coursed through her veins. "Damn it."

_You can't find it in yourself to care for anyone other than yourself._

Why did everything anyone did have to depend on how care was involved? Concepts of 'love', 'trust', and 'selflessness' did not result in progress. Hard work and ambition did, because it got her somewhere. Those factors had been the ones to ensure her success in life, ensured that she graduated with top marks, became a doctor at one of the most prestigious hospices in the world, extended the lives of others.

Not ideals of altruism. She had not cared for her patients beyond that of a physician's obligation, and it had not changed anything.

_To love something is not a weakness. It's a strength. It keeps you going, even when everything else goes to hell. Without love, you have nothing that drives you. No hope. No trust. It's part of being human._

**No.**

Foolish humans allowed themselves to be driven by such emotions because they deemed it necessary. It prevented them from reaching their full potential, it kept them from pushing past boundaries that would otherwise keep them down. They were deliberately allowing themselves to endure such calamities for the sake of their 'humanity'. It did not make sense. Why would they allow themselves to suffer just for some idiotic concept of 'humanity'?

_We're only humans. We have boundaries._

It did not make sense. It did not make sense. It did not make sense. It did not make sense._ It did not make any sense at all_.

She could not understand it. How was she supposed to understand something so _unpredictable_; so ambiguous. She understood the human-anatomy to the inch: the blood-circulation throughout the veins, how cells were produced, how organs functioned, how tumors could grow in different parts of the body. She could tell what kind of affliction a person had just by receiving basic information, and she would perform her duties with little to no mistakes made. That was how much she knew of people.

But she could not comprehend _them_.

What drove them to act as they did? How would they feel in different circumstances where things such as 'sadness' or 'anger' would appear? How could they say something aloud but mean something else? Why would they place themselves in danger just for the sake of trivialities? Why would they deliberately wish to inflict pain onto themselves? Why would Mrs. Rodriguez wish to remain with her husband if he caused her physical injuries? Why would Ms. Nordstrom simply write '_I love you'_ to her daughter instead of providing her with information regarding her whereabouts? _**W**__**hy did her brother want to die instead of trying to be saved?**_

There used to be a time when she understood. Once in her life, she understood these things, all of these concepts. There used to be a time where she would be able to answer all of those questions she currently had without even thinking twice about it; a time where she would lay traumatized on the floor after witnessing dozens of people get killed in front of her; a time where she would not have been able to tolerate the sight of blood and death as she did now.

There was a time she was able to understand everything, but nothing as well. She could understand concepts such as 'love' and 'trust', empathize how people felt in different situations, comprehend them. But it was such a long time ago, she had forgotten everything she once used to know in the wake of what was necessary of her to discard. Things she once used to remember then, but no longer did now.

_Surely you love – or have loved – someone in your life?_

"Once," she mumbled softly to herself, covering her eyes with both her hands. From what little she could still recall from that dreaded concept, there was only one in her life she was certain she once _loved_. Losing him …. It had caused her chest to ache immensely and her senses to go numb. She could never forget his name, no matter how many years she had tried to do so. She could still remember his face, the traces of his features, no matter how many years she had spent trying to forget the image of him. She could never erase him, no matter how much she tried to.

She had almost succeeded – _almost_ – but he never vanished completely.

And she could not understand why.

Perhaps … it was a boundary she had yet to make it through herself.

Evelyn stood up from her seat and walked over to the living room, where she bent down to the floor and reach for the pencil she had discarded earlier. It lacked any significant damage, which was to be expected, so she simply returned to the table without a sound. All traits of earlier frustration had vanished from her face, and she had returned to being neutral in terms of expression and regained her control.

After sharpening the pencil, she continued writing down plausible solutions to the schedules which would result in them gaining a chance to sneak past the guards.

_I can see why Drake favors you so much. You are just like him in so many ways._

Perhaps that was true. Maybe she was like Drake in many aspects, but it did not matter to her. The opinions of others never mattered. What she intended to do would bring ruin to the human who imagined that he would be able to take on the role of a divine entity. His foolish ideas would be the end of him, and she would ensure it. No more people would be sacrificed because of his hubris. No more people would die.

No more.

Then her phone started ringing.

* * *

Dora stood outside on her porch, her feet cold and bare, her left hand holding a smoke that was within an inch of length. Her eyes had remained stuck to the sky for the past few minutes, yet she marveled the sight of the stars as she had always done when she was a child. She reminisced on the time her dreams were to become an astronaut and travel to outer space. However, as she got older, she found herself fascinated with the development of life instead and therefore changed courses during college and concentrated instead on what she already had at her disposal.

How morbidly ironic that both of those would one day coincide.

"Mom, are you smoking?"

She flinched and snapped her head around to the living room. Her son was standing there in his PJs, looking equally curious and skeptically at his mother upon noticing the puff of smoke that was exiting her mouth. He had always been an observant child, even at his age, and it was in equal parts a blessing and a curse.

She quickly dropped the cigarette to the ground behind her and smiled sheepishly. "Luke,"

He was not impressed, raising a skeptic eyebrow. "I thought you promised to stop smoking."

"And I thought it was way past your bedtime, young man," she chastised gently and stepped inside the room, closing the door to the porch behind her. She had hoped this would make him change the subject, but she was not surprised by the reception.

"Don't try to change the subject." For someone who was only nine years of age, he was sharper than any knife they had in the kitchen drawer. Brown-haired like his father, but intelligent like his mother. "I know you have been smoking recently."

Letting out a sigh upon acknowledging that she was caught, Dora sighed and sat down on the couch with her eyes to the floor. "I know, I'm sorry." she apologized.

"You promised you would stop," he argued with an underlying tone of disappointment, which made her heart twitch with regret.

"I know," she agreed heavily. "I just … Things have not been great at work." She could not elaborate on the details, even if she wanted to. Luke would understand even the difficult words due to his intellect, and that made it even more difficult. She relished her son's sharpness, but it was in these circumstances she wished he could not understand her as well as he did.

Upon hearing his mother's defeated tone, Luke's eyes shifted with concern. "Are you okay, mommy?"

"Yeah." She did not know if she was trying to convince him or herself. "Yeah, just tired, sweetie." Her eyes met his and she offered him a smile.

He then walked towards her and wrapped his arms around her figure, offering her a sense of warmth she needed. She could feel her eyes tear up as she hugged him back, holding him as though letting go could cause her to lose him forever. It was a thought she dreaded beyond measure, and one she wished to never experience.

"Just try not to smoke so much," Luke pleaded, and how could she deny that request again?

"Yeah, sweetie," she assured him. "I promise."

And with that, she tucked him into bed, closed the door to his room, and went back to the living room. Everything seemed to overwhelm her at once and she dropped on her couch as tears rolled down her eyes. The fear of losing everything crashed against her like an ocean-wave and it was hard to collect herself. She did not want people to die, but she did not wish for her family to live with the consequences of her actions.

It was hypocritic of her to be angry with Dr. March when she herself was no better. They had both done unspeakable things over the course of these experiments, but it was Dora who had voluntarily agreed to participate. It was also she who had gotten the oncologist involved, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

The fault was as much hers as it was anyone else's.

Just as she was about to head towards her bedroom and finally call it a night, her phone began to ring.

She picked it up, drying her tears before she spoke.

"H-Hello, this is Dr. Skirth."

"_Yeah, it's Eddie Brock here. Talk to me."_


	16. Chapter 16 - Fault

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom**

**A/N: To answer Spectre's (guest) question, I will admit that Evelyn is a mystery to me even though she is one of my own creations. She is human, but she excludes herself from the rest because she does not believe she possesses the qualities expected from a human. Her emotions are entangled - a mess, to be frank - which is why she has separated herself from them and neglected them throughout the years. Perhaps that is a quality I have myself that I have unconsciously placed in the center of her character? Evelyn was developed as a character whose morals - or lack thereof - differs from the typical character you would cheer for in a story. She's no hero, but she is human. Bitterly to the core.**

* * *

**Chapter 16: Fault**

* * *

"So, you're telling me that we are going to break into the facility."

"Theoretically, yes."

"Theoretically, the only one breaking in will be _you_, Mr. Brock."

"Great, so apart from being unemployed, I'm going to become a criminal, too?"

"Only if you get caught and fail to prove any evidence in court," Evelyn assured him while keeping a nonchalant demeanor discussing their strategy for infiltration. "According to the patrol-schedules, the guards will not be permitted within the radius of the lab unless the alarm goes off or they are specifically ordered so by the Chief Executive Officer or the Chief Operating Officer, both of which are currently out of the facility."

Mr. Brock sent her a suspicious look in the rear-view mirror. "And how are you certain that neither of them won't be there? If we get caught – if _I_ get caught, then–"

"Mr. Brock, we will make this as long as we are careful." Dr. Skirth took her eyes off the road for a moment to glance back at him with a reassured – albeit nervous – expression. "We just have to be quick, cautious, and hopefully everything will go according to the plan."

"And what, specifically, is the plan?" he asked and crossed his arms over his chest. "What am I supposed to do?"

"We are about to receive evidence of Drake's unethical experiments. We do that, the facility will shut down, no other people will be subjected to the experiments, and you, hopefully, will get your job back. It's mutually beneficial."

"Not to exclude the fact that we are most likely to be disposed of if we are caught," Evelyn added without looking up from the schedule in her hands, voice not raised in the slightest. "With that in consideration, we have no option but to succeed."

"Yeah, _thanks_," he sardonically mumbled whilst aiming a glare towards the woman in the passenger seat. "Way to make me feel better."

"I wasn't stating the facts for your comfort." She returned a narrowed glower in the rear-view window. "Did you expect this to be a trivial task, Mr. Brock?"

"I– No!" He denied that statement like a child would deny eating a piece of cake when there was frosting covering all of his face. "I just– I just think we should be a little more detailed about where this is headed. I mean, if this really is as serious as you make it out to be, then it's important that we don't screw up, right?"

His visible reluctance couldn't be missed even if you wore blindfolds. Yet, despite that, the oncologist barely even raised her head to look at him. "Were you as 'detailed' when you first interviewed Drake or was it not as serious as you made it out to be?"

The indifference she expressed towards the subject which ultimately resulted in his life going straight to hell made the ex-journalist threaten to step out of his seat and confront her. In general, he was vehemently against being aggressive towards women, but there were limits. Although he was, by no means, intending on harming her, there were a couple of words he wished to share with her.

However, before he could get the chance to do something reckless, the sight of the gate-control ahead of them made him quickly jump back into his seat and duck just in time for the guards to accept the pass-card Dr. Skirth presented them with. The adrenaline in his body seemed to be spiraling out of control, but he didn't know whether this was a product of the amount of anxiety he was starting to feel or something else entirely.

Despite his earlier assumptions, it was unmistakable now more than ever that this would perhaps be one of the most dangerous jobs he had ever signed up for – _and he wasn't even paid for it_. The thought of getting his shit together again, his job, and perhaps his relationship as well made the ordeal he would have to go through seem sufficient enough, but was risking his life for a better one something he genuinely wished to go through? He was no stranger towards breaking into places and exposing corruption where it was, but this was a whole other matter.

After they had passed the gate-control without an ounce of suspicion aimed their way, the oncologist slowly turned her head back to observe the behavior of the ex-journalist; everything from his overall demeanor to the subtle stench of alcohol that reeked from his breath _(Whiskey? Beer? Most likely Corona)_. While she did not doubt that Mr. Brock was a man who was willing to take risks if it meant being able to gain what he had previously lost, she did doubt that losing his life was a risk he was a hundred percent prepared to take.

For all they knew, he could abandon their cause and leave them to deal with the repercussions of their actions after seeing what laid behind those walls. It was a human trait to fear everything that was unknown or otherwise unordinary, which was why she did not look away from the possibility that he could run as soon as he got a taste of how dire the circumstances truly were.

Another possibility she did not look away from was the danger they would face should Treece prove himself present. Unlike Drake, he would not hesitate in killing them on sight if he even got the slightest implication of what they were intending to do. Treece was a built man, resulted by years of hard work and a lack of moral compass. At worst, she would be unable to render him unconscious on her own, but perhaps Mr. Brock could stand equal to the guard in terms of strength.

Her focus returned to the schedules. "The west wing is currently under supervision, so it would be practical to use the back entrance by the parking space to enter." Her eyes trailed across the papers until they landed on a marked spot by the entrance floor to the lab. "However, we might encounter a guard or two on the way to the lab outside. A patrol has been scheduled there over the course of the night, so we will have to evade them."

"Then we'll have to be quick." Dr. Skirth tried to keep her voice evenly distributed between calm and in control, but it was evident that she was far from as composed as she made it out to be. "We only have one shot at this."

* * *

"I really can't believe he'd just show up out of the blue." Anne let out a frustrated sigh as she rubbed her temples. "He really hasn't changed at all."

Dan looked over to his girlfriend with a sympathetic expression, but did not push the matter further. He held no personal animosity towards Eddie, whom he had actually admired because of his show, but the pressure his presence was putting on Annie wasn't something he wished would occur again.

He placed a comforting hand over her shoulder and offered her a smile. "Hey, it's going to be fine," he assured her, hoping that it would improve her mood. It was their six-month anniversary after all, and as silly as it seemed, he was genuinely enjoying the time they had spent that day.

He could only hope that the feelings were mutual.

Anne sighed again and placed her own hand over his as a smile tugged on her lips. "I know, but he's always been stupid like that; he never thinks straight before acting, especially when he's gone heavy on the flask."

"I'm no psychologist, but I'm guessing that's his way to cope with a breakup he hasn't come to terms with yet." Although he wasn't as experienced in psychoanalyzing as he would have preferred, Dan knew the sort of heartache a breakup could inflict on a person, and alcoholic beverages did little to lessen the pain. When his first long-term relationship ended back when he was still an intern, he never thought that there was a way for him to ease the suffering but to find relief at the bottom of a flask of alcohol.

But he was older now, more experienced in the way of coping with one's emotions, and he could empathize with how Eddie must have felt upon seeing Annie again. Although he sincerely did not want him to continue bothering her in a way that would cause her distress, Dan wished that the journalist would find a way to deal with it on his own terms.

"Maybe," Anne agreed quietly. "But he doesn't seem like he's getting better. I want to help him – I really do, but he's just so …."

Dan chuckled light-heartedly at the sight of her frustrations. "Difficult?"

"In a nutshell," she approved and turned around to fully face him. "I'm sorry about what happened. I didn't know–"

But before she could finish her sentence, Dan cut her off as he tugged a few strands of her hair behind her head. "Annie, it's okay. There's no need to apologize." He affectionately caressed her cheek and placed a soft kiss on top of her forehead. "I trust you wholeheartedly." He easily admitted the words a hint of hesitation added. "We've all been there at some point, right? We'll just try to put that to rest for the night. Tomorrow, we'll go to Fog Harbor's and have the best seafood there is in the city."

The sound of her laughter instantly filled him with joy.

"Yeah, I wouldn't mind some lobster." But the sound of her exhales replaced the laughter for a brief moment. "I just pray that idiot doesn't get himself into something stupid."

Dan laughed at her statement, which was filled with so much doubtlessness that it was certainly audible from the other side of the city. "What's the worst thing he could do?"

* * *

Eddie knew he had gotten himself into some truly stupid shit the moment they stepped out of the car and into the parking space. The atmosphere alone provided enough eeriness to sent chills down his arms and it caused the hair on his appendages to stand up. While he did his best to seem unafraid as he walked between the two doctors, the tight knot in his stomach inflicted him with a nauseous sensation that could plausibly send him hurling at any moment.

"God, it feels like we're about to walk forward into some fucked up sacrifice like a couple of virgin victims or something," he muttered under his breath as he scanned his surroundings.

"Then I doubt any of us would classify as such." Dr. March nonchalantly replied without providing him with a look his way. Her blunt response caused him to halt for a moment and his face reddened considerably as his mind processed the words.

"I didn't– … You mean you aren't– … ehm … wait, s_eriously_?" Not that he had put much thought into it beforehand, but Eddie hadn't really expected that someone like her was currently – or had previously – been in a relationship with someone. Although her looks were considered fairly attractive, her unapproachable demeanor had made itself apparent ever since he first met her a couple of hours ago, so there didn't seem like there was much to anticipate from her on a physical level.

His stumbling words made her glance at him from over her shoulders; eyes completely ordinary with no trait of any incredulous reaction on her part. Any woman he had met would usually look horrified or otherwise embarrassed upon being asked such a personal question in regard to intimacy, but this lady didn't seem bothered by it at all. In fact, she was looking at him like he was asking her about the weather.

"Contrary to what you might imagine, Mr. Brock, I'm not that secluded from people to the point where I am incapable of performing acts of physical intimacy on occasion," she explained without breaking eye-contact with him; her green eyes met his green-blue ones and he swore he saw a tint of reflective glass in them. "I believe that would be a sufficient answer to your inquiry?"

"_I wasn't_– … I wasn't asking about your … your … "

"Regardless, that information is trivial to our current objective," she quickly shot him down before he could align the proper words to speak. "We have more urgent matters to attend to than your curiosity in regards to intimacy."

"Hey, I wasn't the one who–!" He groaned to himself and began to pick up the pace, attempting to rid his mind of his previous thoughts in the process. "Anyway, why is Drake really killing these people? What does he hope to gain from it? Does he donate their organs to the black market or some shit like that?"

"Overpopulation and climate change," Dr. Skirth elaborated, unaware of the conversation that had been going on behind her. "These are two things that Drake cannot control."

"Yeah, got it."

"We are literally a generation away from an unhabitable earth. Drake is using his personal rockets to scout real-estate."

"Yeah, listen, really interesting story, but can you get to the part where he's killing people?" His lack of patience was a flaw he was not unaware of, but he considered it excused in these circumstances. However, it was evident that the doctors did not appreciate his impatience because he earned exasperated looks from both of them as a result of his transgression.

"Drake sent a ship on a recon mission," Dr. Skirth continued to explain as they gained access to the elevator, and they all stepped inside. "On the way back, they found a comet."

"A comet?"

"Onboard computers indicated the presence of life. Millions of organisms."

"Whoa, wait a minute." The confusion he was experiencing was visible. "What do you mean, millions of organisms?"

"We brought back some specimen–"

"Are you talking about aliens?" He raised an eyebrow. "Like, _aliens_?"

He proceeded to imitate a figure Evelyn had not seen since she was a child, and his lack of regard for how dire the events were did not earn him any favor from her. Perhaps they were better off leaving him behind and finish this themselves? It seemed like a logical choice. More or less, they were dragging someone with the mind of a child behind them, and she was less than enthusiastic about encountering more of them.

Regardless, Evelyn did her best to ignore it. "That is correct," she affirmed without giving off an implication that she was joking. Her stern words made the smirk on Mr. Brock's face vanish. "But we do not refer to them by such a designation."

The elevator came to a halt and they stepped outside, glancing around each corner to ensure that there were no guards there like the schedules had anticipated. Satisfied with the lack of lives there, they proceeded towards the entrance to the labs.

"We call them symbiotes," Dr. Skirth explained.

"Symbiotes?"

"And they cannot survive in our environment without help. Drake believes that the union between human and symbiote is the key to our survival, but not here on earth."

Realization dawned upon Mr. Brock's face as his mind wrapped around the information he was receiving. "Drake is trying to put _human_ _beings_ and _aliens_ together, so they can live in _space_?"

"His primary goal is to try and enhance their current condition here on earth first." Evelyn deemed herself satisfied with the progress. "The symbiotes are unable to survive in an environment that is filled with oxygen, so they required to bond with an organism from this world which provides them with the ability to tolerate our atmosphere."

He blinked, flabbergasted beyond measure. "But that doesn't … I mean, how is that even possible? It's completely insane."

"Exactly!" Dr. Skirth seemed like she was on the verge of jumping with joy upon finally being understood. "There's no protocol for this. Drake's just feeding them in. If the matches aren't exact, then–"

The sound of approaching footsteps caught their attention, and Evelyn narrowed her eyes as the sight of one of the guards entered their range. An overweight African-American male, approximately 6'1 in height, estimated 190 lbs in weight. Although not one of Drake's security guards, he was a member of the management-staff, which meant he could alert the superiors in case of infiltration.

They could not be seen. At least, they could not be seen with a man renowned for his hostility towards the LF. She weighed their options carefully before her eyes trailed over to Dr. Skirth. "Dr. Skirth, will you be able to keep him occupied for the time being?" she asked, making sure to keep her voice as low as possible without making it any less audible.

Dr. Skirth hesitated for a moment, but then she nodded and placed the palm of her hand on top of the scanner, granting them access. "You need to hurry," she told Evelyn as soon as Mr. Brock was ushered inside. The Ecologist stared at her colleague with pitiable eyes and let out a soft sigh. "Make sure you get all of the evidence. All of it. This is our only chance, and don't get caught."

"Affirmative."

And with that, Evelyn stepped inside and the door shut behind her, leaving Dr. Skirth behind to whatever she would have to do in order to keep the guard off their trail. A tight knot had formed itself in her chest upon thinking through the various situations the ecologist could get exposed to if her cover failed and they were discovered.

However, she did not let that hinder her for long before she caught up to Mr. Brock, who had at that point already pulled out his cellphone.

"Follow me," she ordered as she stepped ahead of him. "And do not touch anything."

He instantly raised his arms up. "Not touching anything."

Despite the amount of distrust she still harbored towards him, the oncologist only raised an eyebrow in response to his childish statement before she led him through the lab.

It was dark inside, which didn't strike her as surprising considering that it was past midnight by far. However, the strange part was that the temperature seemed to have decreased considerably over the course of the past few hours since she exited the building. Whether it was mandatory or otherwise, she could not tell for certain. As she exhaled, she could see her breaths turn white in the air around them.

"So, they really experimented on people here?" Mr. Brock asked as they continued down the corridor to where the cells were. "What kind of sick bastards would even think about something so … so … morally evil?"

"' _Evil_' is a relative term," she contradicted him. "Progress was their goal for all of this."

"Progress? How do you make progress by feeding people to alien … _symbiotes_?"

"Like we said, these organisms require hosts in order to survive in an oxygen-filled environment. Without them, they perish instantly. Imagine it if you went to space without the suit to accompany you." It was a strange comparison, but a strangely accurate one.

"Jesus." Mr. Brock caught up with her, eyes wide and expression likewise. "Who even were these people?" he asked sharply, his countenance changing from a puzzled one to angry (_if she had comprehended it correctly_?) "These 'poor' people? Homeless no-ones who would never be missed? Is that the only reason why you took them?"

His tone became accusing did not escape her notice and, as if on their own, her feet stopped in her tracks and she turned to glare coldly at the ex-journalist, who seemed taken aback upon looking back at her. Despite this, she kept her voice as neutral as possible and made sure that her movements remained restrained and restricted.

"The decision was not mine to make." Her response was as firm and unmoving as the rest of her, and she spoke her words without anything added to them. There was nothing which could imply how she was feeling – or rather, how she was supposed to feel. "The Foundation chose them themselves by chance. Everything was by chance. To the foundation, anyone is expendable, but homeless individuals with no place to go and no family are considered to be less than that." She did not break eye-contact with Mr. Brock through their conversation, even when the urge to look away – just once – struck her as unbelievably tempting on more than one occasion.

"I watched all of them die. Everyone." It could have escaped his notice, but her voice failed to remain as sturdy as it previously had. It had slowed down, grown distant and monotonous. It reminded her of a whisper in comparison to its earlier velocity. "Every man, woman, teenager who succumb to them, I never blinked. Not once."

A heavy weight settled itself on top of her shoulders the more words escaped her lips, and it no longer felt as though it was Mr. Brock her words were directed towards. Whether this was information she was elaborating on or some kind of confession, the conclusion had failed to reach her like it was supposed to.

Mr. Brock was silent. His facial countenance had not changed much, although it seemed slightly less tense than before. Was he angry? Infuriated? Did he blame her for the deaths of those whose lives had been evaluated by her? The opinions of others had seldom affected her in the past and in the present, but perhaps this was an exception? Did she bother caring about the opinion of a man she knew nothing of, whose story she did not know of?

Without thinking over it a second time, she moved past him and continued further down the hallway, not even bothering to wait for him to accompany her.

"If you still wish to put an end to this, then make sure that you keep your camera on."

The tightness in her chest continued to spread through her ribcage until she could feel it aching the edge of her skin, and she had to clench her hand a couple of times in order to make it seem as though nothing was wrong. It circled around her like a parasite, growing stronger the weaker she became. There was no known medical diagnosis for what she was experiencing, yet it continued on.

* * *

It was cold. Unbearably so. This host was becoming weaker and weaker as the minutes passed, to the point where it felt like the female was on the verge of crippling then and there. Venom could not understand how the human body was so weak, so fragile. It was like glass; even the slightest movement could break it; render it permanently incapacitated.

Yet the symbiote could not blame the female. After all, it was the symbiote who was responsible, even though the decrease in temperature played a contributing factor. Venom could feel the internal organs of the female withering away as the symbiote's need for nourishment reached its breaking point.

The female was hugging her own body in search of warmth, yet Venom could provide her with none regardless of how much it …. Wished for her to have it. His need to survive was equal to her own, and none of them could live without the other at the moment. If she was to die, then Venom would as well, but if the symbiote was to die, then there was nothing to keep the female alive any linger.

She suddenly coughed into her hand, quite strongly. The vibrations echoed throughout her system to where it could have been mistaken for her heartbeats. When she finally removed the palm of her hand away from her mouth, there was a pool of blood smeared across it.

"Is tha-that … Is that blood?" she asked, staring distantly down at her shaking hand. Her breathing was increasingly decreasing and her heartbeats were slowing down now more than ever.

"… _**Yes."**_

"Then I suppose I'm not going to live for much longer, a-am I?" Despite the severity of her sentence, Venom could detect no cortisol surging through her system. In fact, judging by the calmness in her body despite the internal damage, she did not seem to be … afraid?

It couldn't be comprehended. Humans were fearful of death, as far as the black symbiote could tell. The thought of ceasing to exist filled them with all sorts of uncontrollable hormones which indicated that something severe was to occur.

Yet this female was not afraid. Why was that?

"I hope s-she managed to send my letter," the female admitted through shivering teeth.

"… _**Perhaps,"**_ Venom admitted, albeit strangely … slowly. _**"Are you … afraid?"**_

"Of dying?" she inquired with a chuckle. "No. I-I'm not afraid. Death is an o-old friend."

"_**Why not? You won't be able to see your offspring again."**_

Her thoughts grew melancholy as the words reached her. "I know, but I'm sure s-she'll be alright."

"_**How can you be sure?"**_ Venom asked, genuinely curious. _**"This world of yours is … **_**ugly**_**."**_

"It is." She wrapped her arms tighter around herself. "B-But there is j-just as much g-good as there i-i-is ugly."

The symbiote could not explain the sensation it was experiencing, talking to this woman. It was … a content feeling, one it had seldom experienced in the past. It knew no names, no designations. It was … strange.

"_**I cannot … keep us alive."**_

"I know…. But it's fine. I l-like the quiet."

She released one last breath before it seemed like her lungs succumb to stillness, and Venom could feel itself grow weaker.

"Let us just … sleep for a bit."

Riot would be angered if he knew the fate of his subordinates. First Scream, and now Venom. Lasher would doubtfully last much longer than then, considering how his own host was on the verge of succumbing to the black abyss itself. Whether there was or was not a Knull there, at some point, they would all meet their creator. It was a sentiment the female possessed, and it must have had an effect on the symbiote.

But just as the cold seemed to break everything down, there came a light.

A blitz.


	17. Chapter 17 - The Breach

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom**

**A/N: Yes! We're finally gotten to the point we've all hopefully been waiting for. This chapter was such a joy to write, and this will actually be the second longest chapter in the entire fic behind Chapter 15, with approximately 6 500 words in total. We've finally reached the point where everything will escalate from, and I've been waiting so long for this, and I know a lot of you guys have been doing the same.**

**Can't wait for the next chapter! Hopefully, it will be out soon, but exams are around the corner, so it might be a week or so at most if I'm lucky.**

**Enjoy! Remember to review, please! I love reading your opinions.**

**Fun Fact: The character Axelson was deliberately referenced after Lieutenant Rico Axelson, who became one of Phage's hosts in "Carnage U.S.A. #2", which ironically was a comic that was first published in _March_ 2012\. Whether they are the same person or related somehow, I haven't given it much thought. Yet.**

* * *

**Chapter 17: The Breach**

* * *

The sound of their feet echoed through the empty space as they paced through the corridors. Evelyn ensured that the ex-journalist managed to capture every piece of evidence on camera. Every picture could serve as opposing evidence against the facility's corruption and lack of morals, which was a goal they were both aiming for. There was not a trace of life in this part of the lab, which was something she had not genuinely anticipated, yet it wasn't entirely unexpected. There were no traits of blood on the floor, no specimen left behind by the symbiotes that were to be used for further research, and there was nothing which gave off the implication that unethical human experiments had taken place there but the various tools that were used for bodily extractions.

They would have to get to the cells if they truly wished to see the worst aspects of it all, and Evelyn predicted that it would be the thing which Mr. Brock would find both most interesting and most disturbing. If he was as genuine of a human as he seemed to be, then the reaction of fear and dread would be mandatory for him in order to qualify as a human being. Few people could look upon the sight of death with a straight face, and those who did were either too used to it or not human enough. Whichever she herself qualified as, it was trivial.

She noticed his skeptic glances around the place as if he was evaluating whether or not it was truly as gruesome as they had described. "This section was used to experiment the patients' physical durability after temporary symbiosis had been established," she explained as she cast her eyes on the tools, reaching for one of them as to inspect the dry traits of blood and matter that had stained the steel. The scientists had failed to properly sanitize the equipment, and as a doctor, the neglect of their material displayed their incompetence. "Few survived."

"What did these aliens do to these people?" Mr. Brock did not seem like he quite understood, but he made the effort to wrap his mind around the subject. It was a quality she found herself respecting. "Did it give them superpowers? Make then invincible? Make them super?"

"That's was the theory," she affirmed and put the scalpel down again on the table, making sure to put it in the exact same position as to avoid scrutiny later. "However, thus far, the only ones who have endured temporary symbiosis are suffering from multiple injuries and show no signs of improvement thus far."

"And that wouldn't be enough for you to, I don't know, _end_ it?"

"Perseverance never ceases." It was neither a piece of personal opinion nor a statement. It was a firm fact; one which was genuine whether they wished to deny or accept it. An act of madness - if sharper words were allowed to come forward. Attempting the same thing on multiple attempts whilst expecting a different result to be produced. Those were the words of a genius, but they were also labeled as the words of an occasional madman as well. Two sides of the same coin, but humans belong on both sides regardless.

She could spot Mr. Brock watching her from her peripheral vision. He was studying her, but she could not tell what it was he was searching for. A reaction? Sign of regret, or lack thereof? His eyes were constantly on her, occasionally darting from right to left to assure himself of their solitude, but otherwise unmoving. If she had to produce a hypothesis about what he was feeling, then it would have to be _(anger? suspicion? distrust?)_. None of which struck her as vital to the task at hand. Whether he trusted her or not, as long as he was equipped with a camera, he was useful enough to keep around. It was, most plausibly, the only value he possessed. A camera alone would have been sufficient enough, but it would have been too risky to do it themselves.

They required a whistleblower, but who would be foolish enough to take up the task themselves and expect to get out of the predicament unscathed? She had no interest in dying, but while she harbored no favor towards the ex-journalist either, she was in no position to judge whether or not he would live. That was not her task; to play God was not a priority of hers.

Whether they would live was entirely up to how well they managed to receive evidence, and whether Drake would remain oblivious of the subtle infiltration of his company or prove himself sharper than anticipated.

That – however – was up to _chance_.

As they continued to walk, his eyes never ceased to focus on her. From what Evelyn knew of him beforehand, Mr. Brock was not a man who was willing to keep silent if there was something he wished to say. Silence was a trait she doubted he possessed, so it puzzled her why he refused to say anything over the course of the minutes he spent glaring her way.

"If you have anything to say –" She glanced over her shoulder to meet his eyes, catching him off-guard in the process. "– You may say it."

He quickly calmed himself. "For once, you said something civil." His words were sharp but sardonic (_if she had perceived them correctly_). "I didn't know you were capable of such speech."

She deliberately ignored him and reached for the entrance to the cells, making sure to keep the noises as inaudible as possible. If there were any kind of security measures around (_cameras? motion detectors? alarms?_), then discretion would be their strongest ally.

The same could, however, not be said for Mr. Brock, whose visible lack of discretion made it seem like they were deliberately placing themselves in the center of attention. His movements were stiff, and he continued to glance around the empty space in search of potential enemies, but he seemed to find little of was he was looking for.

Taking her silence for an answer, Mr. Brock sighed and stooped beside her. "So, they found these things in space?"

"I was under the impression that you listened to what Dr. Skirth informed you of. It appears I was mistaken."

"Hey, I _did_ listen. Still, it's a little strange that they simply started experimenting with humans right after discovering them, don't you think?"

As she opened her mouth to respond, he quickly interjected with one of his obnoxious comments. "Oh, wait. I just found out that you don't care, so neither do I."

She raised an eyebrow. "If that keeps you mute, then I will indulge in your assumptions – regardless of how obnoxious they are."

Whatever effect her words had on him, they succeeded in rendering him quiet. While she would have savored it in other circumstances, what laid ahead of them snatched all of her attention away from what little enjoyment she could offer herself. Pleasantries were not afforded, not in situations like these – not for _her_, in any case.

For Mr. Brock, managing to prove that what he had accused Drake of months before was true _would_ be pleasant. For Dr. Skirth, ending unethical human experiments would place her conscience in a safe-zone. For numerous other people, it would mean that they were no longer threatened to have their lives taken away and deemed expendable.

But for Evelyn, this particular incident did not place her in any sort of comfort zone. She would simply be fulfilling her duty as a doctor, which was to save lives and keep their hearts beating. It was neither an act of altruism or a way for her to act as a hero (an idea she loathed entirely). For her, this was simply a way to ensure that she did her job. It was the only convenience she would get out of this. Whether it was 'selfish' or otherwise, it did not matter.

The corridor between the cells was empty, as expected. No guards were present, the air was deadly still, an the temperature was approximately thirty degrees, which did not make it any less cold in there than it was outside. If anything, it made it even colder, and both Evelyn and Mr. Brock felt chills run up and down their bodies as they failed to adjust physically to the temperature in time.

"Jesus, you guys don't keep any air-conditioner here?" His words shivered through his teeth as he clutched his arms around himself, yet he still managed to pronounce the words properly. "I call that bad service. Zero stars."

"This isn't a hotel," Evelyn responded and quirked an eyebrow at him, bot skeptical an curious. Why would he rate a research facility when its purpose was neither to contain nor entertain anyone? Although she had not expected much from him in terms of intellect, she had assumed that he at least amounted something.

Her response shook him quite strangely. Eddie had to do a double-take to check whether or not she was joking – _she had to be joking, honestly_. However, as he turned to look at her, he found no traits which indicated that she was anything but serious. Green orbs looked at him with an amalgamation of uncertainty and skepticism, as though she was inspecting him of any indication that _he_ was anything but serious.

"You know I was being sarcastic, right?" Was that seriously a question he was asking her? For someone with a tongue of venom, she was certainly denser than she seemed. He usually made it pretty obvious whenever he was being sarcastic, but to explain that he was so, it seemed … stupid.

After hearing his answer, she didn't say a word. Her face was empty of any kind of reaction, but there was the slightest frown tugging on the edge of her lips as if she was internally reprimanding herself for being unable to analyze the words correctly. Although it slightly provided him with a sense of smugness to see her in a state of subtle embarrassment, it failed to deliver him with any long-lasting victory. From where he was standing, she looked slightly like … a child, who refused to acknowledge a mistake they had made and accept fault, and would rather hide any shame they were feeling.

Instead of coming with any sort of comment which could send him in a fit of blind rage, Dr. March merely turned back again and continued walking, ignoring his presence almost entirely as she had done before. It was just as well because the more he looked around, something else caught his attention entirely.

Cells were surrounding them, glass walls which contained imprisoned human beings. Frost produced from the cold shielded them from getting a full view of the interior and made them more aware of how cold it was. Without sparing a moment, Eddie held his cellphone up and took a picture every few seconds, making sure he received enough evidence to last him a lifetime in luxury.

However, few of the cells were occupied, which surprised him. Those who were, they were … not exactly in a state of consciousness. One of the cells inhibited what only seemed like a mass of a concoction gone wrong; a slime-like substance which reminded him of the movie 'Aliens' was spread across the floor, and he made sure to take more than a few pictures of it.

"What the hell happened here?"

The doctor took a step towards the glass and observed the sight in more composed manners than he did, but there was an elusive pause in her breath as she laid eyes on it. She was silent for a moment, rendered entirely mute before she opened her mouth to speak. "This was one of the patients they failed to properly care for." Eddie noticed that she pronounced her words with tight restraint, seemingly provoked by some unknown source. "Harry Beckley was proclaimed deceased a couple of days ago. Lack of proper nourishment caused the symbiote inside him to resort to feasting on his organs as a means to survive."

She pressed the palm of her hand against the glass, and Eddie spotted the tips of her fingers slightly clench to the point where they turned white. He could spot in the reflection of the glass that her face was as void of any emotions as it had always been, but there was twitch beneath her right eye that did not escape his notice. "I gave those imbeciles clear orders; They were supposed to feed the patients with the proper amount of nourishment required for them to function each day, yet they continued to deprive them."

"These things … _feeds_ of them?" It sounded so silly saying it out loud, but it was a question that was genuinely spiraling out of control in that thing he called a brain.

She nodded. "If they do not get the proper amount of food they require, they will. If you were to deliberately starve yourself, the effects of malnourishment would firstly take its toll on your muscles before proceeding down to the organs."

"That's …." _Unbelievable? Fucked up? Impossible?_ He did not possess a vocabulary that was large enough to contain the words he wished to say, but the three former ones might have gotten close. Somewhat. He found himself unable to look away, almost captivated entirely by the disturbing sight in front of him. He might have thrown up had it not been for the fact that there was little he could get out of that. Money had been hard and getting the proper amount of food for himself – even harder. Those parasites would have eaten their way through his stomach and to his liver almost immediately if they had been in him.

But fortunately enough for him, he was not inhibited by one.

That was something he could not say about the next poor guy he spotted in the cell next to the previous one. This was was a man – African-American and currently in a state of what seemed like a peaceful slumber. According to the statistics displayed in front of them, the symbiote had remained in the man's body for the past four days. After snapping a few pictures, he turned to the doctor with a scrutinizing look. "And this one? Who's he?"

"Jacob Markson," she answered shortly. "One of the only patients who has survived."

"And how many, again, did not survive?" he pressed. "Ten? Twenty? A hundred?"

She does not look straight at him when she finally answers. "… I do not think you would appreciate the numbers."

That reply alone keeps him from asking any more questions in regard to the subject. He exhaled and watches the air turn into white smoke in front of him, whereas barely anything was seen leaving the doctor nose or mouth. Her eyes remained unreadable, but something had changed. The twitch beneath one of her eyes had vanished and something else had taken its place, but he was unable to perceive what it was. If she had participated in Poker, she would have left with her pockets filled with money by the end of the game.

"Why were you here?"

Dr. March looked up at him, her sharp eyes having been rendered rounder. It didn't strike him as strange until he looked back at it and realized that it had been _he_ who had asked that question. She continued to stare at him for what felt like a few moments, yet he had not heard her talk over the course of that short amount of time she had at her disposal to come up with something clever.

Instead, she gestured for him to follow her down to the next cell, back against him and facial features out of sight. Eddie followed her without a sound, but the question lingered behind him like an animal stalking its prey. He felt pressured by something to demand an answer, yet he didn't. He was a reporter, it was anticipated that he had a knack for asking the right questions even if they did give him a lot of trouble on occasions – however, he did not feel inclined towards taking something that was not his' to claim.

Not in this case, at least.

But all the questions in his mess of a head came to an abrupt halt once he spotted the next victim. This one was a woman body was crouched to a ball and whose face was covered behind thin layers of dark hair. The cell seemed entirely covered in ice, and whether it was because he himself was cold or because he sympathized with the woman's situation, more goosebumps erupted on top of his skin. He was nauseated upon seeing the condition she was in; frantic, cradling herself back and forth – _afraid_. She was afraid, and with the right reasons too.

Eddie could feel the insides of his stomach churn, his fingers started to scrape the exterior of his phone, and he could literally feel the veins inside his head pump blood through his system like a water-canal. This was inhuman; disgusting; beyond almost anything, he had seen in his entire career. He had interviewed victims of human trafficking, he had exposed corrupt CEOs, participated in organizations that supported human rights. This, however, could not compare to any of them. Or rather, those events could not compare to this one.

He wanted to vomit on the floor – consequences be damned.

"She's the only one who has survived since the experiments initiated," Dr. March crossed her arms over her chest, looking straight at the woman through the glass. "The symbiote within her is … docile, in comparison to the rest."

But her words didn't reach him. After snapping a few pictures with his shaking hands, he took a great number of steps away from the transparent entrance and clutched a hand over his face, paling where he stood. It felt as though the ground swayed beneath him, threatening his knees to buckle under his weight. A thousand pounds had been placed on top of his shoulders, further rendering him incapable of standing steadily.

Seeing him like that, Dr. March unraveled her arms and looked at him with … subtle _pity? _Why was she looking at him like that, like he _yearned_ for her _fucking_ solicitousness? She was partially the cause of this, all this fucked-up mess! Did she expect any different reaction from him, or did she simply assume that he would harbor neutral feelings about this as she did herself? What did she take him for? _A machine_?

"Mr. Brock, what is–"

"Let's get out of here, _now_," he hissed, gathering whatever was left of his composure to regain his stance and make a beeline towards the exit.

Although his words had visibly surprised her for a moment, Dr. March cast a distant look back to the corridor outside the cells. "Are you certain you have gathered all the evidence require–"

"_What_? You want me to bring a fucking sample or something?" he snapped and turned around, glaring a thousand daggers her way. "Want me to take a finger with me from the decaying corpse in that other room, is that it? Maybe an arm or a leg just to be certain the judge can verify it in court?"

"The body of Mr. Beckley doesn't have–" But he wouldn't allow her to finish.

"Unlike you, I don't find it easy to kill people for my own personal agenda." He could feel the volume of his voice threaten to cut his chords entirely, but he didn't give a damn about it at all. All the anger had somehow manifested itself as a black mass inside of him that could ruin everything around him if unleashed.

Dr. March's eyes grew slightly upon witnessing his anger first-hand, but she did not say anything at all. She remained as still as a statue, not moving, and even her breathing was barely visible from an external perspective. Was she even a _fucking human being_ herself? It sure didn't seem like it. If anything, she resembled more a machine than she did a person.

There was so much more he wished to say now that he was already at it, but something kept him from going further. A dark shape behind them came into view and startled him to the point where all the anger that radiated from him became replaced with a mixture of shock and confusion. He spotted a familiar face behind the glass; one he had not seen for several days now.

"_Maria?"_

He could scarcely believe it, but as he stepped closer towards the glass and got a hold of her face, he could tell that it was her. However, her face, which had always been scrawny and inhibited signs of malnourishment, looked like nothing more than bones and skin at that point. Her fingers were crumbled up like paper, and her hair seemed longer and much more unkempt; it almost seemed like a completely different person, but it was her.

She was shouting vehemently at the sight of him, banging on the glass to the point where the ice that had gathered began to crack and fall down to the floor and her knuckles began to bruise and bleed. Eddie was barely able to put his head around it, but as she continued to scream his name from the other side, he knew that there was something he had to do in order to get her out.

"How do you open this damn thing?!" He shifted around to face the doctor, practically begging an answer from her. Instead of providing him with one, Dr. March stared at him with cold eyes and reached for the fabric of his sleeve, preventing him from reaching for anything. Though her grip was firm, it was weak in comparison to his own strength.

"If you do anything, it will trigger the alarm system. You can't–"

He easily shook her off him, sending her several steps back in retreat. "Watch me."

By that point, Mr. Brock had begun to tap on everything within his sight. Evelyn, despite the pain that reappeared in her abdomen after he had swung his arm at her, quickly regained focus and snatched the fabric of his hood yet again by the elbow, attempting her best to pry him off the panel. But Mr. Brock was quicker than her, stronger as well, and continued to try and get Ms. Nordstrom out of her containment; oblivious to the fact that doing so could unleash the security on them.

Evelyn gritted her teeth at his actions, not comprehending how impulsive he was. They had gathered the evidence they needed, they could actually win this against the Foundation. All they were required to do now was to get out and avoid any suspicion, but the chances of that were not considerably decreased because of Mr. Brock's lack of equanimity. They were practically inches away from being able to win this, yet his stupidity would be the end of them.

Humans allowed themselves to be driven by such emotions because they deemed it necessary, even at the cost of everything else!

Suddenly, he began to tap a range of numbers on the access panel, yet without anything to guide him to the correct password. The numbers were inconsequential and incorrect, and just as she reached for his hand in an attempt to keep him from pressing any more of them, the screen flashed in a red color and the piercing sound of the alarm went off. The shrieking from above sent a wave of pain through her head, temporarily causing her to let go of his arm and shield her ears from the external source.

From what little Evelyn could gather outside the sound from the alarm and the flickering red lights above them, Ms. Nordstrom continued to bang and beg from the other side of her containment, but then the sound of something smashing right in front of her was brought to her attention. Ignoring her own discomfort, Evelyn snapped her head back up to watch in disbelief as Mr. Brock started to bang on the glass with a fire extinguisher. The sound that originated from the impact with the wall echoed throughout the entire corridor and possibly further, which could further alert the guards of their whereabouts.

Mr. Brock continued to hit the glass until the ice on the other side cracked entirely and marks were left on the surface of the wall. For once, Evelyn was unable to make out what to do about the situation. There were no answers that aligned themselves in her head, no thoughts on the circumstances whatsoever. She stood there, arm over her abdomen and eyes fixated on the movements in front of her. If she interfered, she knew she would not get far, but if she didn't, then Mr. Brock would unleash something inside that cell that could wreak havoc given the chance.

If Ms. Nordstrom broke out of her containment, then the Foundation would lose one more of its assets. They would be one step further away from achieving their goals, and one step further away from fulfilling what Drake had in mind for them. Perhaps … Mr. Brock's impulsivity could have an outcome that was more convenient on their part than it would on the Foundation's? Either that, or the symbiote would kill them all then and there now that it was released.

Was she about to leave that possibility solely up to chance?

She did not have enough time to evaluate the possibilities at her disposal before the glass began to break, pieces scattered to the floor around them. As it caused her to snap out of her thoughts, Evelyn grasped the moment and practically dragged Mr. Brock out of proximity with the opened cell. Surprisingly, he seemed too shocked to resist, even though he could easily push her away again as he had done before. She glared at him from the side, but the irritation did not seem to be aimed directly for him.

Despite how much of an inconvenient position his lack of control over his emotions had placed them in, it did not feel as though she was angry at him. She genuinely felt as though she wished to blame him for their situation, but in honesty, she couldn't. Instead, Evelyn opened her mouth to tell him that they were required to leave immediately if they wished to avoid getting caught by security, but something prevented her from uttering the first vocals.

There came what sounded like growling behind her, reminding her of some sort of predator. It was deafened by the sound of the alarms, but it failed to escape her ears. Evelyn cast a look towards Mr. Brock, who seemed like he was on the verge of asking her about the origins of the sound, but the answer reached him in a less hospitable way than he would have preferred.

A pair of hands gripped tightly around her throat and forced her down to her knees, like an animal ambushing its prey. Out of instinct, Evelyn quickly shifted around before she allowed herself to fall into a position of defeat and threw her hands over the offender's face, prying them off her. Though it initially seemed easy to put a distance between them, it did not last for more than a few seconds before the offender proceeded to push the doctor back and disturb the balance in her stance.

Her knees buckled beneath her as the offender's arms tightened around her throat and cut off all access to oxygen. Evelyn felt her back hit the ground with a heavy grunt and the sight of Ms. Nordstrom's face above her came to view, yet there were no traits of the woman who had previously been there. No benevolence, no calm, no nothing. Her eyes were entirely white from the pupils to the sclera, and that gave off the indication that it was no longer Ms. Nordstrom who possessed control.

She began to feel what little strength she possessed in her body discard her, and dark spots appeared in the corners of her eyes and it seemed as though she was on the verge of falling out of consciousness. Saliva trickled down the side of her mouth and tears were pouring out of her eyes from the lack of air. The darkness was closing in on her vision, all sounds grew quiet in her ears, and the features of her assailant grew more and more disoriented the longer she remained in her state.

But suddenly, the hold around her neck ceased slightly, and Ms. Nordstrom's unrecognizable face tilted to the side as though in state of both confusion and … recognition. Her white eyes stared intently at the woman pinned beneath her, yet they were as unreadable as a sheet of paper.

"_**We remember …" **_Ms. Nordstrom uttered in a voice not her own. _**" … your name …"**_

The slip in her grip granted Evelyn just enough air to regain her consciousness before she blacked out for good. The words her attacker had spoken remained unclear to her and instead of questioning them, she cast a quick glance over the woman above her and gathered as much information as she could in order to make her move.

_Name: Maria Nordstrom  
Age: Thirty-eight  
Physical state of subject: Traits of malnourishment, iron-deficiency, 5'3 in height, 105 lbs (classified as severely underweight).  
Plausible ways on incapacitation: Trauma to the eyes, throat, abdomen, or groin._

With those pieces of information in mind, Evelyn gritted her teeth and sent her fist straight into the woman's face. She was unable to feel any bones breaking beneath her knuckles, and if anything, the blow delivered more damage to herself than it did to her opponent. She had never been physically adept, which was something that had more than often kept her unable to participate in physical activities both as a child as an adult.

However, Ms. Nordstrom's lack of focus served as her disadvantage. Her nose got painted with a red color and her neck snapped back for a second, granting the doctor just enough time to grasp the opportunity to push the woman entirely off of her. The weight lifted off her like and she quickly crawled back from the woman, struggling to regain her breath as the pressure around her throat abandoned her.

Her muscles tightened and her heart was beating uncontrollably, yet as she prepared to get up, she witnessed the figure of the patient jump at an inhuman height over her and onto Mr. Brock instead, whose unpreparedness had rendered him unable to fight against the woman's unexpected strength.

Ms. Nordstrom got on top of him and wrapped both of her hands tightly around the man's throat, threatening to strangle him at the spot. Although he tried his best to fight her off, it was evident that Mr. Brock's strength could not compare to the kind that had manifested itself into the patient.

Without wasting a moment to consider her options, Evelyn instinctively regained her focus and quickly scrambled up to her feet and made a beeline towards Ms. Nordstrom, whose back was against her on top of Mr. Brock. Under ordinary circumstances, behaving so irrationally without thinking thoroughly about her actions would have left a bitter aftertaste with the doctor, but she considered herself excused from any self-inflicted reprimands for reasons unknown.

Grabbing the fire extinguisher, Evelyn gripped both her hands around it and actively tried to aim at Ms. Nordstrom's head, imagining that it would be just enough force to hit her parietal lobe and render her temporary debilitated. Her strength was not a reliable source, but it was not entirely useless either.

But just as she was about to strike, Evelyn felt her attempt at an ambush come to a sudden halt as the item in her grip stopped inches before its target. Eyes widened a few inches, it seemed as though the air had grown deathly still and their surroundings had frozen in place. When she dared to look over to see what it was that had halted her attack, Evelyn spotted Ms. Nordstrom's –

_No_, not hers. Those fingers were definitely not those of Ms. Nordstrom.

With one hand still tightly enveloped around Mr. Brock's throat, another clawed hand engulfed in a black substance had gripped around the fire-extinguisher in Evelyn's hold so forcefully that its claw-like fingers had pierced through the metal and caused the carbon dioxide inside of it to burst out on the floor like the blood in an artery.

Without words, Evelyn let go of the device and watched it get discarded by the blackened appendage to the other side of the corridor, far out from their reach. The sound of the alarms grew distant in her head and she scarcely remembered to breathe as she stared intently at what had once been the subservient Ms. Nordstrom.

If one thing was absolutely certain, this was not the same person – not a _person_ at all, in fact.

"You are …." Evelyn's voice was barely above the volume of a whisper, yet still, she managed to pronounce her words just coherently enough. She could not feel anything in her body; hardly the beats of her heart, the blood beneath her skin, the muscles in her appendages – she was paralyzed entirely, and she could not comprehend the reason why. Was this a symptom of 'fear'? Was she 'afraid'? Or was this simply shock over the fact that her body had just been exposed to a near-death experience?

Ms. Nordstrom's white eyes were aimed at the doctor, but they were as unreadable as before, which filled her with more questions that would doubtfully be answered. The patient's hands remained firmly enclosed around the man beneath her weight, who was at that point struggling to remain conscious.

Mr. Brock's movements had ceased after what seemed like hours of struggling, yet he continued his best to try and fight the figure sitting on top of him. It did not seem like he would remain conscious for long if he was denied his privilege of breathing. His actions earned back his assailant's attention and Ms. Nordstrom turned back to him and began to pant heavily and grunt. A black mass transferred itself from her hands and to the ex-journalist, resembling a snake striking its unfortunate prey.

But the transition only lasted for a fraction of a moment before it was over, and Ms. Nordstrom fell limp to the side and her weight abandoned Mr. Brock. Though he was quick to get back on his feet, the image had Evelyn's chest tightening once again. All reason must have discarded her head, because without casting a glimpse towards the ex-journalist whose body had just been inhibited by an extraterrestrial parasite, she slowly crawled over to the patient's unmoving body, grabbed her shoulders, and shook it.

"Ms. Nordstrom?"

She asked her question, but there was no physical response – or a verbal one for that matter. No movement, no glimpse of any life. With a finger to her neck, the doctor checked her for any pulse, yet there was none to be found. She placed her ear to her chest in an attempt to locate her heart-beat, yet there was none there either. With her eyes closed, she came to the conclusion that Ms. Nordstrom was ….. she was …

"M-Maria was _here_ all along?" Mr. Brock looked down at the corpse with eyes the size of plates and his expression hardened as the facts added up. "You're the ones who took her."

But before he could throw any more accusation in the doctor's way, the sound of the alarm snapped him out of his temporary stage of rage.

"_There has been a breach in Lab Sector 3,"_

"If you wish to survive, then you need to get out of here now."

Her words were not aimed for the ex-journalist, but someone else. Evelyn's eyes met those of Mr. Brock with a cold sense of severity. Her words were aimed towards someone she knew could understand her, and she knew would take her advice into action immediately. If the creature was as sentient as it seemed, then it would heed her words carefully. "Get out of here."

Without processing her words entirely, Mr. Brock opened his mouth to retort to something, but before he could, something invisible seemed to pull him away and he was forced to run towards the exit, leaving the doctor behind with the corpse of her former patient.

As soon as Mr. Brock vanished from sight, Evelyn – still on her knees over the lifeless body – experienced an unfathomable sensation surging through her. The sight of death in front of her had become common over the course of the past couple of weeks, but this seemed different from the rest. This seemed almost too familiar for her comfort, if there was any to find in the sight of death. Ms. Nordstrom's eyes were shut, reminding her of the view of someone sleeping. It was almost ironic, considering how the last couple of weeks in her life had been anything but peaceful.

It was a privilege she had earned – to finally be able to rest.

And yet still, clenching her hand to a fist over the deceased woman, Evelyn slammed it down on top of the floor, feeling her knuckles bruise.

"_Damn it all!"_


	18. Chapter 18 - Regrets

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom**

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**Chapter 18: Regrets**

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Everywhere in the world, people were dying like flies. Whether it was due to natural causes or something else entirely like accident or murder, death did not discriminate between its victims. Age, ethnicity, gender, acts of 'heroism' of 'evil'; none of those things played any contributing parts in who was to die and who was to live. Children, adults, and elderly all met the same fate one day or the other. In a way, it was all up to _chance_, which was something she had grown accustomed to over the years despite loathing the concept entirely.

Granted, although Evelyn did not indulge in the fact, she had no power over who was to indulge in the qualities of life and who wasn't. Even after spending years of trying to figure out everything there was to know about the human body and its limits, she had gotten no closer towards finding out how to keep people from ceasing to exist before their elderly years.

_That_, she begrudgingly admitted to herself, was not so easily managed.

Working in a place where death was practically a mandatory attribute unless the afflictions could be remedied, she had seen everything there was to see in terms of death and 'misery'. Children crying in their parent's arms as the news of their imminent death had reached them, parents having to accept the reality of what was to come as they attempted to comfort their children, people mourning their loved ones, people turning to substance abuse to cope. Whenever people in her care proved to be untreatable, she would always be the one targeted with the blame.

Though there had only been a handful of patients who had died while under her supervision due to terminal illnesses or other maladies, their relatives would more than often see her as the one responsible for their state of 'misery'. Curses, threats, even pieces of furniture had all been thrown her way, and even though the two former ones had always left her as easily as they came, she had admittedly gotten better at dodging the latter over the years.

In other words, she had seen all there was to see, so she imagined that she would have become used to seeing corpses too.

But nothing she had ever seen in her entire career – her entire _life_ for that matter – could have prepared her for what now remained of Ms. Nordstrom's body.

She had examined the deceased woman's features in complete silence shortly after Mr. Brock had gotten out of there. Sitting on her knees just inches away, Evelyn had observed everything from the ashen color of her face to the way her veins popped up from where they were not supposed to be visible. Her eyes were ajar, bloodshot and had tears that bore a striking resemblance to ink leaking out of them both; the pupils that had expanded to the point where there was almost no white left in the sclera. Although it had only been less than a couple of hours since she died, it already appeared as though her body had been left decaying for the last couple of days.

And this one's death was one she _did_ feel responsible for and acknowledging that the blame belonged to her sent a tightness surging through her chest like the blood in her veins once again.

_Thump, thump, thump…_

She clutched her hand over her chest as the beats of her heart started to pace faster and faster the longer she stared down at the deceased woman's features. They were considerably faster now than ever before, and she could not pinpoint what caused it to begin with. Neither could she explain how she was able to hear them so vividly when there were numerous – obnoxiously _loud_ – people around her from almost every angle possible.

Not long after the incident had alerted everyone affiliated with the Foundation, be it guards or scientists, there seemed to be little room for silence anywhere now that they were all gathered in the same space. Initially, Evelyn had not expected there to be more people under the Foundation's thumb as there were staffs in the general hospital she worked at, but that evening proved that the former clearly possessed the larger quantity of the two.

It made it seem strange that there were so many people affiliated with the project, and even stranger that the security around the place easily allowed three people access without much effort put into it. 'A piece of cake' her brother used to call things when they were easy enough for him to handle without struggle, although she had never understood how simplistic tasks could compare to slices of dessert. But if that was an appropriate term to use in circumstances such as these, then yes, it _was_ a piece of cake.

When she had been found there in the lab with the deceased patient's body beside her, it was only mandatory for the guards to suspect her of any involvement. But much to her convenience, the scars and evident traits of hardship on her body reduced their distrust to little more than nothing. From the visible scratches and bruises on her neck and face, to the unkept way of her clothes, and her hair that was now in a messier version of its original state.

She had explained to them that she had been ambushed by the infiltrator while delivering some last-minute assessments on the patients, who in turn had somehow managed to run off with the symbiote unscathed. It was a believable story that could be backed up by the numerous guards that had attempted to chase after him, only to fail when they realized that he was nowhere within the perimeter anymore.

When asked about the intruder's description, she had told them that she was knocked unconscious and 'roughed up' a bit before being able to make out his figure. All she informed them of was that it was a male of approximately 6'2 in height, which would have made it considerably more challenging for them to locate someone by the description when there were thousands of men who could match it.

Still, that did not spare her the numerous looks of suspicion she could feel following her every move after the situation had calmed down. While she was used to people looking at her like they wanted to do more bad than good, it still demanded more effort from her to bluntly retort something back than it did to disregard them entirely. However, for the time being, she would have to be discreet if she wished to avoid invoking further doubt from them.

In doing so, she decided that it would be best for the time being if she placed a distance between herself and the rest of the crowd, but just enough to avoid having to catch the scent of their breaths. While technically speaking, she was only standing on the side a few mere feet away from the nearest cluster of colleagues, yet it still felt like it was enough to avoid any unnecessary interaction. If somebody were to ask her about what had occurred, she was only required to shift her attention to the floor and feign shock in order to keep them off of her.

It was something she had learned from an early age was an easy method in terms of keeping people at bay. Silence bred assumptions, but it also bred seclusion, which was something she required in order to keep herself away from their radar. But it also kept her from looking over to where deceased woman's body laid motionlessly. Whether it was intentional or otherwise, Evelyn's distance from it made it easier to focus on how she would be able to sway Drake with her version of what had occurred.

Placing a hand on top of her neck, she could trace the scratches and bruises that were starting to form on top of her skin. While they were far from as severe as they could have been, they would no doubt leave scars that would remain for years to come if she did not patch them up within the hours. Although she was no stranger towards scars or other sorts of injuries, as her body was covered with a fair share of them as a result of discontent patients – or more specifically, the patients' _relatives_ – and accidents at the clinic, Evelyn always made sure to keep them covered up with the clothes she usually wore. Long-sleeved shirts and stockings usually helped with that.

But her neck? That would become bothersome to try and conceal.

Knowing Dr. Lewis, however, she sighed with subtle frustration as she realized that keeping something concealed from him for long would be more challenging than keeping something concealed from Drake. Both of them were perceptive men, but their different agendas usually allowed different attributes to come forward. Care from Dr. Lewis, but caution from Drake.

After picking on the edge of one of the scratches she felt present by the edge of her jawbone, Evelyn's lips tugged to a short-lived frown as she contemplated on what kind of measures could be taken in order to keep them all from view. While she did not harbor any vehement dislike towards turtle-necks or scarfs in general, she sincerely doubted wearing one inside the hospital during such warm seasons would pass as ordinary. And though she did know how to apply make-up, it was a hassle.

Her arms crossed over her chest as she continued to ponder over what she could do to keep all of them out of sight. Had there been only one scratch, then a simple band-aid would have been enough, or nothing at all, but considering how her neck and throat were practically accessorized with bruises and scratches for everyone to notice, it would not easily escape everyone's notice. Much less Dr. Lewis'.

_"If my problems were to cause you immeasurable pain and struggles, would you still offer your assistance so carelessly?"_

_"Yes, I would."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because that is what friends do."_

Evelyn was usually one to keep trivial words and conversations from lasting longer than a few days at most in her memory unless they were relevant for a situation, but for some reasons, Dr. Lewis' words were not one of those within that category despite them being utterly useless to her current predicament. His lack of precaution when it came to 'caring' for others had on more than one occasion left her unable to understand his thinking-pattern despite it being so obvious.

The only thing that was reoccurring when it came to him was his inability _not_ to help others, no matter their situations and whether they spared him any consequences. While it was her own job to help people, as long as it was somehow within her field of concern, she rarely bothered to lift a finger if it wasn't. Dr. Lewis, on the other hand, practically indulged in it.

Perhaps he would have been more able to keep Ms. Nordstrom from dying than she could … But that was her blame to carry, not his. If there was one thing she was certain about, it was that Dr. Lewis was not someone who deserved to carry the burdens of her own mistakes. Those were hers, and hers alone. No one else's.

_Alone_.

Even as Evelyn stood on the sides, having succumbed to her own thoughts for what seemed like hours, there was no way for her to block out the persistent sounds the other scientists were producing as a result of their discontentment surrounding the difficulty which had struck them all in mutually large degree. Traits of 'anger' and 'disappointment' seemed to reoccur almost everywhere she looked (_cursing? physical tension? visible outrage_?), and while some of them were more composed with their behavior, the rest did not hesitate to lash out and express their discontent about having lost one of their most prominent subjects to an intruder.

The concepts of 'humanity' and 'civility' seemed to be in short supply at the moment, which did not say much considering how the majority of them indulged in unethical human experiments on a regular. Either they were simply too caught up with their ambitions to care about the consequences, or they just wanted to express themselves in less than 'civil' manners. Either way, it did little to impress her.

But even past all the aggressive ranting and the words of irritation expressed throughout the labs, something which reached the physician's attention was the sound of approaching footsteps coming to her direction. Initially expecting it to be another one of those scientists who could not help but keep themselves entertained with questions and answers, Evelyn's eyes met the floor and she was just about to keep her silence secured when she realized that she recognized those dark shoes that came into view, along with the striped pair of pants that somehow seemed appropriate for someone like _him_ to wear.

And by him, she meant none other than Mr. Marley.

"It must have been quite a scary evening for you, Dr. March," He was smiling down at her, his tone was 'gentle', 'pleasant', the sort of voice any person would wish would accompany them on top of the mattress.

Looking up at him, Evelyn made sure to keep her shoulders hunched just enough to make it seem like it was caused by undisclosed unease. As she pretended to have all her attention on him, her pupils trailed over his features, everything from the way his shirt was neatly buttoned to the gel he had put in his hair to make it stay up to the side. Cologne reeked of him as well, which she made sure to discard from her attention.

"I appreciate your concern, Mr. Marley," Pronouncing his name left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth for some reason. "However, I am quite alright."

He courteously inclined his head her way, flashing a smile in the process. "I am glad to hear it," he said as he sighed with relief. "It would have been a shame if we lost one of our best people."

Losing one of their most prominent subordinates (if she could even be called that) was hardly an issue. Everyone was expendable in the eyes of the foundation, even her. Humans reproduced like rodents, so it would not require a lot of effort to find someone whose expertise could challenge her own. They could probably find someone whose lack of morals and ethics could even surpass her own, but that did not require even half the effort it would take to find a replacement.

In fact, it would be the easiest task of them all. She had met her fair share of people whose lack of morals even startled her to an extent (_RED HAIR. GLISTENING TEETH. UNBLINKING, RABID GREEN EYES.)_, but few of them had managed to alarm her in similar ways like Drake and …. _Someone else she knew_.

Mr. Marley's stance seemed to change. Instead of being stiff and unmoving as it had initially been, it became rather relaxed and lackadaisical. This seemed like ordinary behavior for him, judging from what little she had observed the first time she met, and that was a good sign. She would have to keep it that way.

She placed a hand over her neck and let out a sigh. "I sincerely apologize for this inconvenience, Mr. Marley, it was not my intentions to–"

But he held up a hand before she could finish, successfully catching her slight off-guard. The smirk on his lips revealed gleaming white teeth that seemed like they had been practically polished with sandpaper. "You do not have to fret, Dr. March," Her name seemed to leave his lips like saliva on his tongue. "You could not foresee what was going to happen. You're only human, and humans have limits."

_And humans have boundaries,_ she bitterly thought to herself.

Having not heard her thoughts (as expected), he continued. "Measures will be taken and both the human and the symbiote will be found and brought back for safe extraction, –" In other words, somebody would most likely be _killed_. "- So you can simply rest if that is what you wish. Things will be handled from here."

"Considering how this was caused partially due to my lack of precautions," Evelyn contradicted him. "I should contribute as well, otherwise I will be in a debt I could not possibly hope to repay."

The concepts of 'depth' and 'repayment' had zero meanings to her. If people owed her the same amount of lives that she had saved, then she was already indebted to a three-digit number of human lives by now. But she had no interest in collecting them, and neither had she any interest in providing with any either, least of all to people like him. They had taken more lives than she had lost, and that fact alone seemed to cause her an immense sensation of …. _Something_.

Mr. Marley, oblivious to her resentment towards him, chuckled with his hands tucked inside the pockets of his shirt. "Your dedication is admirable, Dr. March."

"Of course," She inclined her head to him. "I'm a doctor, and as such, it's my responsibility to take care of my patients. Failing to do so does not speak a lot about my competence."

And even so, several people had already died in her care and she had failed to save them even when she could. If she was indebted to those, then she also had several lives to give. But neither of those were at her disposal.

His eyes flashed to her, glimmering with something arrogant. "You are more than just _that_, I sincerely hope you know," he added sultry, reaching his hand up and placing it over her neck where the majority of the bruises were located as well as the scratches that had dried. The cold tips of his fingers trailed over her skin to the back of her neck, then over to the side of her jaw until they finally rested beneath her chin.

She had endured it, oblivious to what such a gesture meant. To her, it was no different from shaking hands, but something told her this was … more intimate than so.

Her eyes trailed up to him again, and she could spot him smirking down at her with something indiscernible lingering in his gaze _(?)_. He took a step closer towards her until he towered over her figure by a couple of significant inches. While he was not as tall as Treece in terms of height, he still stood superior to her by a few inches or so (_two? four? five?)_

In regard of strength, however, perhaps those extravagant clothes of his provided her with no answer. From an external perspective, she would have assumed that he weighed less than (_130 lbs.? 150 lbs.? 160 lbs.?_), but she could not conclude anything for certain unless she him stripped to the skin. That was not something she deemed interesting, however, so she discarded the idea entirely.

But right now, there were other matters to deal with than this person. Looking over his shoulder without making it visible that she was particularly focused on much anything less than him, Evelyn spotted a familiar dark-haired woman approaching from the distance through the crowd. She had discarded her coat someplace and it was clear that she was in a state of disarray, but it all seemed to vanish entirely upon seeing the physician standing there – albeit the presence of the COO seemed to dissolve that short-lived relief a bit.

"However, in the near future, I would recommend not performing any assessments without supervision, alright?" Mr. Marley's patronizing reprimand snapped her attention back and Evelyn only nodded without uttering a single vocal.

Then, with a courteous nod, he removed his fingers from her neck and excused himself by saying that he needed to hear some reports from the guards that had been responsible for losing the intruder out of their sight, and that she would have to come to him if she could recall anything from the intruder's appearance that could be valuable.

Losing him off her trail almost seemed too easy; 'a piece of cake'. Whether or not it acted in her favor, Evelyn could only hope that he was as dense as he genuinely appeared to be. Although he was not as fierce as Drake in regard to his reputation, she did not doubt that he had not earned the title of COO without reason.

People of powerful positions more than often had powerful allies backing them up, and right now, the last thing she needed was prominent figures in society knowing her name.

"_Evelyn_!"

Hearing her name – her _first_ name –, her head snapped up as Dr. Skirth approached her. The lines under her eyes and evident hints of exhaustion on her face convinced her that the ecologist had not wasted a single moment that evening, which was something they both had in common at the given moment.

"Dr. Skirth," Her awareness of her presence did not sound as welcoming as it could have been, but Evelyn did feel an amount of_ (relief? joy? luck?)_ knowing that the ecologist was alive and well. That must have meant that neither Drake nor any of the guards had been aware of either of their involvement in the infiltration that had occurred only hours earlier.

Dr. Skirth stopped right in front of her and looked into her eyes with fierce curiosity and (_Fear? Dread?_). "Is it true?" she asked, murmuring the words like whispers that could scarcely be detected. "About the symbiote? Was it … I saw the subject's body. She was …" Dr. Skirth's eyes trailed to the floor, mouth moving but uttering no sound.

Evelyn nodded in verification, though she did not respond verbally at first. Surveying the crowd of people from where she stood with her arms crossed and stance straight, she detected no suspicion aimed towards them at that very moment. The rest of those imbeciles were too occupied discussing the matter with their colleagues, so hardly anyone seemed to notice the two of them standing there; the true culprits of the matter which they were discussing.

"Then," Dr. Skirth proceeded cautiously, taking the view of her colleagues into consideration before speaking. "Is he alive?"

"I'm not certain," Evelyn answered and turned to meet her eyes. "They managed to escape as far as I am aware of, but whether _he_ still lives is another matter." Symbiotes killed their host once their greed became too massive, so the chances of Mr. Brock dying unless he was able to feed himself the proper amount of nutrition was entirely up to him. On that part, she had no way of making sure of it.

"You saw him take it," It was a statement, not an assumption. Dr. Skirth was practically begging her for a suitable answer. "Tell me everything that happened."

"The intruder seemed to be familiar with Ms. Nordstrom," They both knew whom the 'intruder' was. "He decided to attempt to break her out of there."

There was no further explanation that was required other than what they already knew beforehand. Evelyn assumed that the ecologist could easily put the pieces together on her own from there.

Not only had she already elaborated on the fact to the other colleagues in an effort to shake them off her heel, but she was sincerely not in the mood to go into more details as it was. She had seen the symbiote discard Ms. Nordstrom and eagerly jumped onto Mr. Brock like a virus, which was all she had to say about the subject. If it wanted to live, then it would have a chance. If not, then it could mean problems.

As long as it remained out of reach of the LF, then she was content enough to leave the matter as it currently was. Once out of there, however, she would make sure to try to locate him and ensure that he was alive. But right now, she did not trust the Foundation would so easily let her out of their sight again. While they would physically speaking allow her to walk out of their doors with little problem, she doubted that they would not keep her under some sort of surveillance.

But the LF was not the only thing that was at the risk of becoming increasingly dangerous at the moment. If the symbiote that had escaped decided to discard Mr. Brock in a similar fashion as it had Ms. Nordstrom and live on its own, then it could plausibly decide to commit a series of mass murders around the city in an effort to find a more … suitable host. _That_ was something that could become increasingly dangerous.

Although she had accepted that death was inevitable regardless of where and when and whom it concerned, Evelyn was by no means interested in allowing unnecessary bloodshed to occur if she could avoid it. She did not need more people's lives on her hands. If she could prevent more people from meeting a fate similar to Maria Nordstrom, then she did not object towards enduring something like that herself if it meant others were saved in the process.

For that, then her life was absolutely _expendable_.

But for that to happen, then she would perhaps require some assistance. Therefore, she decided that the woman standing next to her could perhaps be of further use. "Dr. Skirth, would you–"

"Dr. Skirth, Dr. March,"

She unknowingly clenched her fist to a knot as the sound of Dr. Collins reached their ears. As one of the more prominent members of their scientific field, he was one of those people Drake could simply not afford to discard just yet. Although his demeanor reminded her very much of Dr. Francis Lambert in terms of self-acknowledged narcissism and competence, the primary difference between them was their respect, or lack thereof, towards life. And although she knew that Dr. Lambert would never risk anyone's well-being because of his own pride, the same could not be said for Dr. Collins.

Speaking of which, as he entered proximity from the crowd towards them, there was an uncertain tug at his lips that indicated that he was no longer feeling so certain of himself anymore as he had before. "Mr. Drake has requested that both of you come with me."

"O-Of course"

"For what purpose?"

Glancing at each other at the sound of their voices intertwining, both the ecologist and the oncologist came to a silent understanding that, regardless of why they were required to go there for, it would be for the best if they obeyed without interjection. Even so, as they accompanied Dr. Collins on the way to the cell area of the labs, both experienced a painfully-tight knot forming in their stomachs.

While one of them knew what produced it, the other did not.

* * *

Eddie vehemently cursed to himself as he felt his stomach churn to inhuman degrees. His insides were threatening to burst out of his abdomen, his nerves were piercing him like a thousand needles through his skin, and arms and legs were shaking uncontrollably. He felt cold, so cold that even the tips of his nails ached, yet he also felt hot. So hot that he had on more than one occasion debated ripping his shirt right off rather than to take it off like any man with sanity would.

_Fuck sanity_!

Ever since he managed to get out of that fucking facility and back to the city, nothing about him had felt right. Even after trying to contact Dr. Skirth through the card she gave him when they first met, she wasn't picking up.

He didn't know if what he was experiencing was just in a state of shock after seeing people – _actual people_ – get experimented on like they were guinea pigs or if it was something else entirely. He had always known that Carlton Drake and that bullshit he called the Life Foundation (ironic name) was shady, yet he had never been able to imagine that horror he had seen first-hand once there himself.

Black markets, human trafficking, forced prostitution, he had seen it all, yet none of those could compare to the horrors of that facility.

But more than horrified, Eddie felt immensely hungry for some reason. He had tried to consume everything in his kitchen that was edible; food, beer, even junk from his trash. Under ordinary circumstances, he would have thrown up after eating something so infested with bacteria.

And he did.

He had thrown up several times already, head hanging over his toilet like a pregnant woman during the second trimester. While technically speaking, he wasn't unfamiliar with the sensation of throwing up after a couple of bottles of whiskey and beer, this could hardly compare to those incidents. When he and Anne were still together, they had discussed the possibility of having children. Now, however, he quickly discarded that idea after coming to an understanding of how dreadful it would have been on the woman's part.

Not that it mattered anyway now …

_Damn it_.

After what felt like a while, which was in reality little more a half hour at most, he got to his feet a little wobbly and tried to regain his composure after all that shit. Still, it wasn't easy. Half his head was still stuck to the toilet seat and the rest of him was just a little less messy than what was at the bottom of it.

But eventually, he was able to get properly up, though there were black spots decorating the corners of his sight and sounds were growing faint and distant in his ears. It all felt like a bad – _really_ _bad_ – hangover. He sure hoped that was the case, but luck rarely tended to be on his side of things. Especially now that he was in desperate need of it.

Turning the faucet on, he splashed a fair amount of water into his face and indulged in the coolness. His temperature seemed to calm down and so did his nerves, but there still remained that tingly sensation inside him he could not simply put a name on. He could compare it to … to feeling his heartbeats grow heavy, or his lungs expanding to the edge of his ribcages. He had never experienced the latter sensation per se, but it was the easiest comparison he could find that actually made – to some degree – sense.

After spending a couple of minutes in contemplative silence, he pulled out his toothbrush from the mirror-drawer and decided that for now, he would rid himself of the foul stench in his breath before taking a shower, and finally take a quick nap to ease his mind before he went to his old boss with the proof he had managed to collect. That dumbass would have to take his word for it now.

But, unfortunately, Eddie never got that far. One moment, he was brushing his teeth and spitting it out over the sink. Next, he swore he could see an unrecognizable monster in his reflection which called his name and sent him shrieking back into his bathtub. The rest after that… Well, it was easy to say that it did little to ease the headaches that had bothered him for the past couple of hours.

And to his lack of knowledge, the creature that currently resided within him could not wait but to see what kind of use this host would have … although the male was, in human terms, a '_pussy'_. Maybe it would have been better to use the doctor after all, but when it came to survival, Venom didn't discriminate. And right now, it was too late for regrets.

_**Too late for them all**_.


	19. Chapter 19 - Breakable

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom**

* * *

**Chapter 19: Breakable**

* * *

_Their mother's face was pale and there was so much she wanted to say, yet she did not utter a single word as she escorted her son to the car after that horrible ordeal – how could a mother comfort her child after he had just fallen twenty feet from the branch of a tree and to the asphalt with a living creature tucked beneath him? The impact had killed the creature and broken his arm, but his physical condition could not compare to his mental one. His arm was broken, his clothes were soaked in blood, his eyes were wide with incomprehensible trauma and had tears streaming down from them. _

_Upon seeing the state his son was in, their father quickly called the hospital and ordered them both to go into the car. But as young Evelyn reached to hold her brother's hand, he let out an ear-deafening scream and quickly pushed his sister back from him with such force that it was a mystery that one of his arms was broken. She fell to the ground on her behind, startled to the point where she was frozen where she sat. Her brother did not even look at her, but his lips were quivering and his hands were shaking uncontrollably._

_Never before had he ever pushed her, even when they were younger. He had never been mean enough to do such a thing towards her, even when she annoyed him to a great extent. As her eyes trailed up to meet his face, she could no longer see the countenance of the brother she admired so much. Instead, all she saw was … a hollow husk._

_Without thinking, she crawled up to her feet and tugged behind them towards the car, but her father quickly spun around and faced her with a saddened smile, kneeling down to her height and placing a hand on top of her shoulder as to keep her from following them inside the vehicle. "Sorry, kiddo. We have to go to the hospital for a little while with Davy."_

"_Why can't I come?" she asked curiously. "I want to come too."_

"_I know, sweetie, but this is not going to look pretty. But don't worry. Uncle Patrick will come over shortly and keep an eye on you." He caressed the side of her face and kissed her forehead affectionately. "Promise me you'll be a good girl, alright."_

"_Okay," she assured him. "I promise."_

"_That's a good girl."_

_And with that, her father placed himself in the driver's seat of the car and started the engine. Her mother put her son as carefully as she could in the back seat as to not warrant any further pain in the arm that was bent in an unnatural angle. After shutting the door, she turned to her daughter and gave her a quick hug before she retreated to the passenger seat._

_As the car descended down to the main road, the young girl spotted her brother in the window and waved at him, hoping that he would spot her and wave back. However, he neither saw her nor waved back. His eyes were plastered to the floor of his seat, his pupils had shrunk, tears stained his cheeks, and blood covered several spots on his face. She didn't know the name, but it seemed as though he had been in a place where a __**murder**__ had taken place, and not even the sight of his sister standing outside their home seemed to be enough to warrant his attention._

_So, she stood there alone on the sidewalk and watched as the car containing her entire family disappeared into the distance. Although her father's friend, whom both she and her brother affectionately called Uncle Patrick, would arrive shortly if her father had been true, she did not feel any less alone than she did standing there. _

_Evelyn did not utter a word for the remainder of the time, but she wished to say something; hoping that someone would hear his words. Maybe it would make her parents turn back and come get her, or perhaps some of the neighbor kids would come and play with her instead of staying inside to watch television. _

_But none of those potential outcomes ever occurred. She didn't utter a single word, her parents' car finally vanished from sight, and she remained alone where she stood on the sidewalk. Though she was no stranger towards the sensation of involuntary seclusion, it was not something she craved like water. The friends she had at school were one thing, but it was another matter entirely when not even her own brother could look at her anymore._

_But it was not until a few seconds later that she would come to realize that she was not as alone as she believed. _

_The sound of footsteps clattering against the pavement caught her attention, and the young girl shifted her attention towards the source of the sound. A boy from across the road made his way towards her, smiling benevolently as he shortened the distance between them._

_The closer he got towards her, the more of his appearance she was able to make out. He was wearing a striped shirt in red and blue, which seemed to fit his equally-red hair as well. He was smiling, showing his pair of perfectly white teeth, and his eyes glimmered in a color similar to her own, yet there was this mean streak about them she simply could not seem to shake off her. Be that as it may, he was waving her way, so it was only appropriate of her to wave back, albeit with less enthusiasm on her side._

"_Good morning," he greeted her softly, evidently oblivious towards the fact that it was late enough for the sun to be setting in the horizon or simply not caring enough. _

_Evelyn tried to ignore his odd greeting and simply replied with a "Good day," herself, masking any unease she felt towards the boy._

_She must have been successful in concealing it because he did not seem to notice the goosebumps she had crawling up her arms or the way her eyes avoided meeting his. Either that, or he simply did not care enough to make his awareness of it public knowledge._

"_Who are you?" For a child that young, she scarcely hesitated to ask what was on her mind unless her mother deemed it 'inappropriate', but after analyzing the situation thoroughly, Evelyn did not find anything remotely 'inappropriate' about asking someone she had not met before for their name._

"_I'm no one," the boy haphazardly replied, much to the girl's confusion. "That's what my dad always says anyway. 'That I'm a nobody'."_

_After hearing this, the distrust the young girl harbored towards him changed to pity and she looked at him with a mixture of disbelief and sympathy. To be called such a name by someone who was supposed to treat you with love and affections, it was **monstrous**. She could never imagine her own father saying such a cruel thing to her or her brother. He would have rather choked himself on her mother's (dreadful) dinner before he allowed such words to escape his mouth._

_But this boy's father did not seem to find it hard to tell his child that he was a 'nobody'._

"_That's not true," she quickly disagreed, shaking her head. "You're not nobody."_

_That seemed to pique his curiosity, and his eyes gradually trailed over to her whilst the smile on his mouth seemed to extend to a Glasgow-like grin. "Oh? Why not?"_

_Although slightly unsettled by the way he was looking, she felt proud over how maturely she was able to handle the situation. "The pastor says that everything with a name has a soul and that it should be treated nicely because of it." _

_His next answer shook her._

"_And what if there doesn't exist a thing such as that?" The way he said it made her skin crawl and her heart fall into the bottom of her stomach. Because of that, she had failed to notice how the boy closed in on her, up to the point where he was practically standing over her by a few towering inches. A few strands of his crimson hair cast an ominous shadow over his eyes._

"_Things like a 'soul' and 'goodness' and all that, you should know that it's just a bunch of crap those people say to put a leash around your neck –" He reached his hand up and placed it firmly around her neck, just tight enough not to threaten her inhales. " – Like a dog. Like stupid Fifi." _

_Evelyn usually knew when and how to back out of a situation. Her father was a policeman, after all, so he had always made that she knew when running away was an available option in any given situation. Anytime. However, she found herself frozen where she stood, eyes widened at the boy with an immense sense of dread surging through her. Though she was perfectly able to breathe, she swore she could feel his fingers tighten ever-so-slightly for each time she blinked._

_The boy was smiling at her visible reaction, apparently taking immense pleasure in seeing the fear in her eyes increase. "Once you die, you're not going to any 'heaven'." _

"_Then," she found herself asking, "… Where do you go?"_

_As if by some inhuman way, his grin seemed to spread even further through his cheeks. "I've seen Death, and He's smiling on top of this giant throne made of bones in Hell. To him, it doesn't matter whether you're 'good' or 'bad'. We're all the same to Him." _

"_What is 'hell'?" The term had never reached her attention before, although she swore she had heard it sometime ago when her father was really angry at something. Her mother had quickly shushed him, so Evelyn had completely forgotten about it after that. _

_Until now._

_She got the impression that it was a very bad word - or place._

_The boy opened his mouth to answer, but suddenly, as if thinking of her inquiry made him aware of something, his grip around her neck lessened and his eyes shifted around until they landed on a spot beneath the tree. The very same spot where the mangled corpse of a white kitten laid in the shadow, decomposing slowly in the summer heat. The stench made Evelyn want to throw up, but she contained herself just long enough to see where this was going_

"_Here," he said as he picked up a stick from the ground, turning his back to her and approaching the bloody site. "Let me show you what it is."_

_She regretted not running away from there when she had the chance, but the sound of something hitting what sounded like a piece of flesh caught her ears. Evelyn looked down and watched the boy slam the tip of the stick into the mangled kitten's belly (what she assumed to be its belly) and draw it across the pavement. _

_He constantly swung it around the ground, drawing indiscernible things in the blood. At first, there was a line, then came what looked like a triangle, then a square, and then a circle. An amalgamation of all of those figures combined, but it did not seem to add up to anything. For each time he would run out of the 'paint', he would simply dip it back into the puddle of blood and continue like nothing._

_As much as she wanted to run away, the young girl found herself eerily curious about what he was trying to make out of it. The sound of scraping from the concrete was subtle, nearly inaudible, but it was the fact that it was there nonetheless that still shook her._

_During the time he spent drawing, the boy never once turned around to look at her to see whether she was still standing or otherwise. Granted, he would have heard her had she ran away, but it did not look like he would be bothered by her absence. Either way, he proceeded._

_After what felt like a few minutes, the boy got back to his feet and finally turned around to look at her. There was a menacing glee in his eyes that failed to leave her mind that, much to her lack of knowledge, would stay with her for the remainder of her life. It was as if … something dark was swirling in his eyes, accompanied by something black as well. A hypnotizing spiral out of control._

"_Well?" he asked nonchalantly and gestured to his 'masterpiece'. _

_Almost daring not to look away, afraid that any absence of wariness could bring about her end, the young girl spared a brief but lingering look down at the cement, and she felt absolutely sick to the core. The crimson drawing depicted what looked like a …. Castle, or some kind of hallway. _

_A red place accessorized with the tarnished organs from what now resembled little else than a pulp of paint instead of an animal. Obscene-looking heads with spirals on their foreheads and no eyes, along with rows of sharp teeth, were drawn around whatever place was depicted there._

_They were scaring her, feeling as though they were staring at her through that image even without eyes._

"_You see," The sound of his voice caused her to snap out of the temporary paralysis she had succumb to. She glanced back at the boy._

_He began to walk towards her, "My momma says I was dead when I was born, for nineteen minutes and thirty-eight seconds exactly. But during that time, I got to see that wonderful place." His eyes trailed over to the drawing again, eyes twitching and pupils filled with obscene mirth. "Until then, though, we're stuck here in this crappy world. When you die, you won't be missed, so it will be easier to say bye-bye. But you will be free."_

"_How do you know that?" Evelyn felt proud over knowing that despite all the shivers that went up and down her skin, and the quiver she felt creeping up on her, she still managed to speak properly without faltering. "How do you know if you are going to go there? How do you know that you won't be missed? A lot of people will probably miss you."_

_Without changing the expressions on his face, the boy merely let out a ghost of a chuckle and shook his head like a parent being disappointed at their child. "'Souls' don't exist, 'cause once you're dead, you're dead." He pointed the twig at the mangled kitten's corpse next to him. "Just like that. It's not going to be missed just 'cause it's dead. Nothing more than a sack of meat the crows will eat."_

_Despite how afraid she was, Evelyn felt her anger boil at that statement. "That's mean to say," she said defensively, ignoring the boy's somewhat irritated look. "That kitten could have had a family."_

_He shrugged. "It's expendable."_

"_Expend… able?" She did not know the meaning of that word._

_Then, he proceeded to apathetically bend down towards what looked like the kitten's crushed skull, and then stab it through the top. A sickening cracking noise was heard, silencing any thoughts the girl might have had._

"_Once you're dead," he said without raising his voice. "You will go to that place, and everybody here will forget about you. It doesn't matter if you're 'good' or 'bad', and I would stop thinking that something so stupid like a 'soul' is real if I were you. At some point, you're going to meet Him, and hopefully –" He looked over his shoulder, the ever-present glee still present in his equally-green eyes. " – Hopefully, I'll set you free for longer than simply nineteen minutes and thirty-eight seconds."_

* * *

"_Ms. March, what are you still doing here?"_

_The voice of her professor caused the young student to avert her attention away from the book in her grip. She got to her feet and placed the book upside-down on the table, unknowingly folding a few pages over each other. "Dr. Skirth,"_

_The professor nodded, noticing all of the stacked books that laid on the table in front of the girl. Her eyes then trailed up to the clock on the wall in the library. "It's awfully late. You should be at home."_

"_I was occupied."_

"_Studying?" There was a hint of skepticism creeping in her words. _

"_Slightly," the student admitted. "I found some reading material, and it proved to be … interesting."_

_Hearing this, the professor readjusted the glasses on the bridge of her nose and eyed the disheveled book on the table, scanning the title that had been placed upside-down. She recognized the title and the author's name, but could not place her finger on what had caused that particular student to want to read it. Its content was hardly something she believed would pique her interest._

"_Do you find it to be an interesting story?" she asked curiously._

"_Yes,"_

_The professor pondered on the answer, finding the prospect of one of her most diligent students reading something so obscene disbelieving. In the many years Ms. March had been tutored by her, never once had Dr. Janine Skirth seen her read or affiliate with something based on fictional circumstances – much less a story where the main protagonist changed into a giant insect. An __**ungeheures Ungeziefer (1)**__._

"_What do you think of it, then?" the professor asked, tilting her head slightly to the side in a questioning way. "What makes it interesting?"_

_Her student narrowed her eyes on the floor for a moment. "I find it strange how a human is able to metamorphize into an insect-like being overnight. However, something else seems strange about the story."_

"_What?"_

"_The protagonist does not question his affliction, nor does any member of his family. They seem to view it as a common occurrence – his change – or perhaps as an occasional illness that hardly deserves any noteworthy attention. Not even his employer question his malady."_

"_Well, some people believe that it's not about the protagonist's affliction itself, but rather his family's own change after the changes– particularly his sister's."_

"_His sister's?" Something akin to confusion manifested itself on her features. "I don't understand."_

"_Even though the point-of-view character is the one who changes physically, his sister is the one who matures as a subsequent symptom of her brother's increasing demands and needs," Dr. Skirth explained. "By the end of the story, she is the one who changes the most. She is the one who develops because of the circumstances."_

_The explanation the student received seemed to strike her flabbergasted, though her facial reactions remained subtle to the point where it could be mistaken for nonexistent. Still, the professor knew her well enough to read her. "Not what you were expecting?"_

"_The story is about one character, but the circumstances revolve around someone else?"_

"_Yes, that is the hypothesis." Dr. Skirth did not mind spoiling the content, not if it succeeded in sending the message she was trying to convey. "By the end of the story, however, his sister is the one who suggests that killing her brother would ease the family's problems."_

"_Would it work?" Ms. March asked completely serious, causing the professor to slightly pause. "Would killing their son ensure that the family would have a better life and stable finances?"_

"… _It's a cruel thing, to sacrifice something you once loved for something else. The family's sentiments and sympathy towards their son dissolve in the wake of hunger."_

"_But they survive, correct? Even though their son died, they were only able to live just because he ceased to exist?"_

_She sounded disturbingly indifferent to the prospect of the family killing their own son to further advance their situation. Dr. Skirth had seen various different people throughout her career, some who were empathic to the point where killing a fly would send them in a fit of crying, and others who would gladly put others in a disadvantageous position as long as it paid off for themselves. This, however, was somehow different. Disturbingly so, yet also not so._

_But Dr. Skirth kept her equanimity intact and merely looked at her young student, taking note of everything from the dark bags beneath her eyes as a result of sleep deprivation to the way her clothes aligned perfectly with each other. A dedicated scholar, yet poorly so in terms of taking care of herself in ways that ought to be defined as vital. Dark hair kept in a low ponytail, green eyes, pale complexion; her appearance alone was plain, yet she had a brain that exceeded even one of her most gifted colleagues. She simply had not reached her potential yet._

_And for some reason, Janine was afraid of what would happen once she reached that peak._

"_Although I can understand the perspective of those who believe that the strong survive and the weak ceases to do so, I cannot justify the death of others for the sake of my own survival."_

"_But what if it contributed to the majority surviving as well?" Ms. March asked. "If the death of one individual contributed to the survival of many, would you not consider that sacrifice to be necessary?"_

_"Then,_ _let me ask you, Ms. March." The professor sighed before she continued "Would you be willing to kill in order to save?"_

"_I would." _

_Janine was genuinely petrified by how quick that answer arrived. Though she had anticipated a brief moment of hesitation or reluctance that would indicate that the student had not been entirely truthful about her reply, she found none on Evelyn March's._

_None at all. It was almost … '__**inhuman' … 'monstrous'**_

* * *

Evelyn cast a glance up at the clock on the wall. It had been precisely nineteen minutes and thirty-eight seconds since Drake had summoned them for a thorough examination of the body, yet he had failed to show up himself. It was expected, but also not so. He was an unpredictable man when it came to his movements, and there was nothing more she loathed than the unpredictability of people.

Most of all, unpredictable – _powerful_ – people like Drake.

More so, her shift was about to begin in not too long, and she would prefer to refrain from running late again. If she could avoid problems from the hospital's director and the nagging from Dr. Lewis, then she would grasp the chance at doing so rather than to waste time catching up on her sleep.

With her arms crossed and her stance stable enough to fool even an alcoholic-affected person, Evelyn pretended not to let her focus linger on the body that laid in front of her for more than she felt she was required to. Although getting a view from afar was considered ill enough, even from someone with her occupation, standing closer to it made her want to walk away without consideration towards the consequences of her absence.

She did not really understand why standing so close to the decomposing corpse. She had seen them before, of course, just not quite like this.

**Never like this.**

"This … is unlike anything we've ever seen," One of the scientists spoke in a hushed tone. "The others did not perish like this. What could have caused it?"

"Perhaps extended period with the symbiotes affect their organs differently than they would upon brief contact?" Dr. Collins answered as he examined the body from the top. "We'll could an X-ray of the subject as soon as Mr. Drake has seen it for himself."

"Did T790129 have a family?"

"No, she was just a homeless tramp we found on the streets. No one even knew she existed."

_"I WANT TO SEE MY DAUGHTER AGAIN! I WANT LILY!"_

"_Whenever I got a few coins on the street, I would call her and talk to her a bit. Please …. I just want her to know I love her. That's a-all I ask."_

"_From mommy?"_

"**_I love you"_**

"She had …." _A child. _As she started to say something, Evelyn thought better of it and remained mute. If she mentioned the daughter in front of people who were more than enthusiastic about keeping their secrecy intact regardless of what and who … If the Foundation was not above killing people in general, then killing a child would be 'a piece of cake'.

Her right hand clenched into a fist, her stomach tightened to the point where it ached her earlier injuries, and she swore she could feel her nails dig into her flesh and draw blood. Dr. Skirth, who was standing right beside her, seemed to notice this change in her behavior. "Dr. March, are you alright?"

"We just lost one of our most promising subjects." Her eyes were glaring holes through the floor as she answered. Whether it was sheer discipline or luck that kept her from revealing her internal _(?)_, it remained obscure. "We were at the peak of a major breakthrough."

Dr. Skirth seemed slightly surprised, but then she nodded and stepped back, understanding that her words were not ... genuine.

"Well, at least we won't have to worry about cleaning the mess. No one will miss her, so it will be easy to dispose of her once we're finished with the last examinations."

_**MARIA NORDSTROM.**_

Dr. Collins' indifference must have had some kind of physical effect on her. All Evelyn recalled was her heart reaching a brief pause and her clenched fist lifting itself up. The next thing she knew, she was up against his face – left hand clenched around his tie to an asphyxiating point whereas the right one was inches away from crashing into his lateral cartilage. It was unbearably tempting to hit him straight where it hurt, and although it would most likely do little else than break his nasal bone - followed by a nosebleed - it would be worth it ….

But she withheld herself just barely. Her fist stood practically less than a few inches away from his skin, and she stopped it mid-air just to watch his pupils shrink and his skin pale significantly. The air went deathly still; you could have dropped a needle to the floor and still heard it.

All eyes were on them – more specifically, on _her_. She could care less.

"Evelyn–" Dr. Skirth tried to intervene but took no more than a simple step closer before she paused.

Evelyn glared coldly at the scientist in her grip. The urge to shout at him that his indifference was a fault, that the loss of life was more than simply the loss of an experimental specimen was more than just an inconvenience. But she knew she could not.

Instead, she said what was necessary. "We just lost one of our subjects to a simple intruder, and all you seem to concern yourself with is the disposal of a _trivial_ _woman_."

_**HER NAME WAS MARIA NORDSTROM.**_

The grip around his tie slackened and she took a step back, allowing the scientist to breathe after what seemed like a long time of being denied inhalation. Evelyn did not linger on her display of_ (anger? irritation)_ for long, and promptly regained her composed demeanor. She readjusted the hem of her sleeves and looked disinterestedly at the scientist whose physical well-being she had just threatened.

"Apologies, Dr. Collins." She feigned regret, though only her words expressed such. "I merely lost control of myself."

_**SHE HAD A NAME.**_

Dr. Collins was visibly shaken, trembling as he struggled to regain his stance. He readjusted his tie until it was decently-looking again and then smiled through quivering lips. "O-Of course, Dr. March. It's understandable." His ability to regain himself was admirable.

She nodded, then turned her attention back to the corpse, whose features were more disintegrated now than they were minutes earlier.

_**AND IF THERE EXISTED SOMEBODY WITH A 'SOUL', IT WOULD HAVE BEEN HER.**_

"I suppose the fault is partially mine." Dr. Skirth cast her a nervous look from the side as she said this, but Evelyn pretended not to pay it any notice. "However, what surprises me is that the security allowed an intruder to infiltrate so easily. It truly displays their lack of –"

Marching footsteps had all of the scientists present in the corridor shift their heads towards their approaching CEO and his Head of Security. Next to Treece, just a few steps behind him, was Mr. Axelson – his face partially concealed as always.

"_Competence_," she finished, raising an eyebrow as she caught sight of utterly infuriated Drake came closer and closer.

"How bad?" he asked, just barely able to contain the rage that was reeking of him.

Dr. Collins was the first to speak up. "It's bad."

"HOW BAD?"

His below caused the majority of them to flinch. Dr. Skirth included, and she unconsciously clutched onto Evelyn's left sleeve as a result. This act caused the oncologist to glance her way, somewhat confused, but she let it slide and merely placed her focus back onto the CEO without a word.

"W-We assume the intruder took it."

Drake stopped in front of the head of the corpse, eyes scanning over it. Its appearance startled him, his hands were shaking. A few seconds passed before he seemed to recover his voice. "Took it? _Took it_?"

"A Caucasian male broke into the facility while I was doing some last assessments on the patient," Evelyn explained and gestured to the deceased woman in front of her without averting her eyes away from the CEO. "He was successfully able to break her out of her cell, then subsequently was bonded to the symbiote."

"Seems a little strange –" Treece crossed his arms firmly over his chest, lips tugging at a smirk as he eyed the physician with a mixture of _(skepticism? affirmation?)_ " – That you just happened to be there the moment an intruder showed up."

"I wasn't allowed a proper examination on the patient before the security guards ordered me out of the cell at the command of their _superior_," If she was at the liberty, she would have smirked. But now was not the time for such indulgences. "Intending to fulfill my part of the experiment, I arrived here to finish my assessment and my reports. Delivering unfinished ones would have been inconvenient."

"Still doesn't explain how you got inside the labs, which was supposed to be heavily guarded."

"There were _guards_ around the perimeter? Must have escaped my notice."

"I-I was there," The guard who Dr. Skirth had occupied sheepishly raised his hand. "I met Dr. Skirth at the entrance, but I could not see you anywhere, Dr. March."

She quickly thought of an explanation. "Dr. Skirth was helping me get inside because I lacked a passport required to get in. The guards by the entrance to the facility may vouch for it."

All eyes suddenly landed on top of Dr. Skirth, who was visibly becoming distressed by the amount of attention she received. Evelyn's gaze was enough for her to understand what to do.

"Y-Yes, I was simply helping Dr. March as she said. I didn't want anything to go wrong now that we were so close to achieving our goals, s-so I assumed that it wouldn't be any problem."

Her declaration seemed to be enough to convince Drake.

"All clear, Treece," Drake suddenly spoke up, looking exasperated at his Head of Security. "The guards by the entrance stated that they saw both Dr. March and Dr. Skirth arrive alone. There was no one else."

Treece's eyes widened in disbelief. "B-But–"

Evelyn gestured to the bandages around her throat. "The intruder managed to incapacitate me long enough to successfully escape. I assume that will be verification enough, Treece?"

But before the Head of Security could proclaim something in retaliation, with merely the flick of a finger, Drake had rendered him entirely mute. "Of course, Dr. March," he said calmly, not raising his voice in the slightest. "You were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. Marley interrogated her himself, Treece, so that will be all from you."

"I … But …" Succumbing to the commanding demeanor of his boss, Treece reluctantly took a step back and placed both of his hands behind his back. "Of course, sir."

"Unfortunately, we don't know the current whereabouts of the intruder," Dr. Skirth explained. "He vanished."

"I want to speak to every manager that was on duty last night." Treece was determined to regain what trust he had lost from his boss.

"Already did, sir." But it was quickly lost once again as the other guard had already finished that task.

"But _I_ didn't_._"

Too infuriated to even concern himself with their bickering, Drake ordered the decomposing corpse to disappear from his sight and the scientists obliged at once. Evelyn and Dr. Skirth shared a brief look before they both silently agreed on what to do. As the ecologist zipped the body bag shut and the oncologist prepared to assist her in disposing of the corpse, unknowingly avoiding touch with the bag, they both heard something that had them freeze where they stood.

"Carlton, you need to see this." Dr. Collins ushered the CEO with him towards the entrance to the cell that confined Mr. Markson.

"What's new?"

"His blood pressure's back to normal. Lever-functions, too."

Without wasting a moment as soon as those words were processed, Evelyn stormed over to where the CEO was being led towards, internally hoping her assumptions were wrong. However, as she found herself standing in front of the cell of Mr. Markson, she could physically feel her heart drop to her stomach.

Mr. Markson was sitting up, eyes no longer blood-shot and movements considerably more stable now than they had previously been. He appeared to be … normal. As if there was no extraterrestrial parasite residing inside of him, tearing at his organs in need of sustenance.

"The diagnostics Dr. March delivered to us earlier, he shows progress from how he was then," Dr. Collins continued. "He's recovering."

"It seems that you are correct, Dr. Collins," she affirmed, trying not to seem displeased. "He seems to be recovering from his state."

"I knew it." To say that Drake, on the other hand, was displeased would be incorrect. He was relishing the sight in front of him. "His body just needs time to adjust. I don't want to waste any more time. I was to up the test, okay?"

"Mr. Drake," Evelyn interjected. "As glorious as this change of events is, my shift at the general hospital is about to begin. I ought to leave and arrive later."

All signs of enjoyment quickly left him as Drake turned to face her. "You need to leave now."

"My absence has already been noted by the director," she explained. "If it were to continue, it would most likely have severe consequences for me. I formally ask for your permission to arrive later and continue the studies at another time."

Drake was visibly debating with himself, torn between the choices of allowing her to depart or force her to stay with them. Although he was at the liberty of doing both, he reluctantly nodded and sighed. "You have obligations elsewhere," He forced a smile. "That is understandable. Will you be alright?"

"I will," she assured him, glancing back at Mr. Markson, whose visibly distressed state did not escape her attention. "Once I return, we will finish the tests."

"Then, I'll have one of our guards escort you."

"It is appreciated."

* * *

"You have to find him." Dr. Dora grasped her by her coat and did not let go, looking straight into Evelyn's eyes like a devoted Catholic would look at their deity. "You have to find him, and make sure that they are alive."

Evelyn, despite standing taller than the ecologist by a few inches, could not answer at first. The life of Mr. Brock was currently at the disposal of the symbiote, and she could only hope that it would be courteous enough to allow him to live for the sake of itself. She was in no position to have such power. Life, it was not something she could force on someone.

"I cannot …. I cannot–"

"_Please_!" Dora pleaded, speaking just loud enough to escape the notice of the driver in the car behind them. "Please, just find them."

_Promises depend on trust. Someone trusts you to keep it, and if you value that trust, you keep your word._

Was she willing to place her trust in someone she had not known for more than a few weeks? She didn't even trust people she had known for longer than that, and yet …. Why did she feel like she was obligated to keep this one? She could not understand it.

_**'I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself.'**_

She let out a sigh, then nodded. "I promise, I will find him."

The words must have had a larger impact on the ecologist than Evelyn had anticipated because she sagged in her stance as though the ground beneath her seemed to shake due to the movements of the tectonic plates. As she was about to support her, the oncologist suddenly found herself embraced by the other woman, surprising her to the point where she did not know how to breathe properly.

"_Thank you," _Dora whispered softly against her ear. _"Thank you so much."_

As Dora did this, Evelyn could feel the other woman's hand fall down to the side of her coat, leaving behind an insignificant weight in one of her pockets. It was hardly detectable, but still there.

The ecologist finally leaned back with her hands around her colleagues – _her friend's_ – own hands, her smile still present. "Good luck."

"We will not die," Evelyn proclaimed firmly, unconsciously holding onto the other woman's hands as well. "We will live. This will work."

"I hope so too."

If anyone could hear them there, they would assume that the subject of their conversation was Project Symbiosis. But it wasn't. It never was.

As Evelyn turned around and opened the door to the backseat of the car, she spared Dora one last look. Her mouth threatened to open, to say something, but instead, she shut it and silently stepped inside and closed the door. She watched as the view of Dr. Skirth vanished into the distance as the car drove out of the backside of the facility and towards the city.

She wanted to say something. She truly did. The weight in her chest … it had become even greater. It was almost undetectable but felt as though it had merged with the organ in her chest that provided her body with blood through her veins.

"San Francisco General Hospital?" Mr. Axelson asked, looking at the passenger through the rear-view window in search of affirmation.

"Yes," Evelyn responded, just barely above a whisper. "Get me there."

* * *

**(1): **_**ungeheures Ungeziefer = (German) "Monstrous/Ginormous Vermin".  
A reference to Franz Kafka's literary work "The Metamorphosis" (German: "Die Verwandlung"). It revolves around a man who wakes up one morning to find himself completely transformed into a giant insect, and how he himself and his family and friends changes as a result of his transformation. **_

_**This indirectly alludes to Evelyn's situation. While the story itself centers around Eddie Brock and his change to Venom, Evelyn is the one who also changes at a different point, much like the main protagonist in "The Metamorphosis" and his sister changes in the original story.**_


	20. Chapter 20 - Guilt

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom**

**A/N: Wow, we've finally managed to hit chapter 20 at about 90,000 words! Note that this chapter seemed, for me, particularly difficult to write. Not because I was necessarily hit with writer's block, but because Evelyn's narration has become considerably more unpredictable now than ever before to write, and therefore reading things from her perspective might become more ... elaborative now than before. She's becoming less _mechanic_, and experiences emotional hardship primarily because of guilt****. While she tries to keep it under control, she visibly struggles, as she finds her rationality conflicting with her inexperienced emotional state. **

**Another thing I want to make clear before you proceed, what Evelyn 'sees' later in the chapter is not a vision produced from some kind of 'special bond' she shares with the symbiotes, nor anything within the category. It's purely the result of stress and sleep deprivation that's consuming her, accompanied by the sensation of guilt. Because of that, her physical state is also affected.**

**Fun Fact #2: While it is not explicitly stated in the story that she has it, Evelyn's inability to comprehend emotions - be it her own or those of others - is closely related to a personality construct known as _Alexithymia_. While the symptoms vary, most prominent is the inability to articulate or otherwise read emotions. In Evelyn's case, she's completely disinterested in learning more about the topic, despite its severity later on, and mistakes her incapability to understand them as simply being _logical_ compared to the rest of the population. Alexithymia can be caused by various factors; genetically, childhood neglect, or traumatic events. It's a thought I've had ever since I first started developing her as a character.**

**Thank you for your attention and please enjoy and review!**

* * *

**Chapter 20: Guilt**

* * *

She arrived just in time for her shift to begin, which was a relief in terms of avoiding unnecessary attention. The director did not take note of her apparent state of sleep-deprivation, nor did her colleagues. Their concerns were seldom from the start, and she always had a knack for avoiding the necessary amount of sleep the human body required, so there was nothing to be done.

However, she could not help notice the fact that Dr. Lewis did not seem to be present at the hospital. The lack of his presence became one of the first things that reached Evelyn's attention following the morning she spent working. Although she was not too surprised, as his schedule indicated that he wasn't supposed to be on duty until later in the afternoon, there seemed to be something … off following his nonattendance. Whether it was the lack of greetings he would present her with on each shift they shared, or simply his overall ability to increase the morale of his colleagues, Evelyn had no way of distinguishing which of the alternatives stuck her as most convincing.

Throughout the day, between following her daily routine of prescribing medicine, diagnosing patients, to cooperating with her fellow oncologists to keep people steady with their medicine or through procedures – even breaking up a verbal-turned-physical confrontation between two patients at one point during the day – Evelyn could not muster the strength to place all her focus on the well-being of her patients as much as she ordinarily would have.

While she had deemed the majority of them stable and otherwise healthy to the point where immediate treatment was not required, her mind no longer seemed like the steady setting it normally would have been. Her thoughts were scattered, letters were dissected before they could even make out the shape of words, and she was too preoccupied with what had occurred earlier to be concerned about much else at the hospital. It was uncharacteristic of her, but somehow inevitable. She could not put what she was feeling into words or come up with some sort of diagnosis.

When she was not working with patients or preforming her duties, she was occupied trying to locate the whereabouts of Mr. Brock and the symbiote, knowing fully well that she was required to find them before the Foundation unless she wished to suffer the consequences of her transgression against them.

After some deliberation with herself regarding the possible places he could be at, she had attempted the few clues she could think of. First, she tried to contact his previous place of employment, the Daily Globe, but after receiving no suitable answer after attempting to call them (she was put on hold), Evelyn abandoned the thought and moved on to the more personal environment. For example, the current residence of his ex-girlfriend seemed appropriate, and people seldom tended to easily rid themselves of attachments in the past. It would, perhaps, be expected that he was located someplace around there, which would make it close to the central park. She knew that Dr. Lewis had recently moved in with Ms. Weying, so she knew the location. Asking her colleague directly for information would be inappropriate, but she could deal with those consequences on another occasion.

She eventually decided that when her shift ended, she would try and look for Mr. Brock there unless she received suitable answers from Dr. Lewis. If she was fortunate, she would get closer to Mr. Brock and the symbiote's whereabouts. Was she not, then she would simply have to continue searching.

_Please, just find them._

As the image of Dr. Dora's pitiable expression entered her head, practically begging on all four, Evelyn placed her hand on top of her forehead and sighed over he coffee-cup in her hands, not knowing how to comprehend the situation. As soon as she was able to take a break, she did not waste a moment grabbing a cup of caffeine to keep her energy at a relatively stable point. It was not enough to keep her from occasionally losing her concentration, but it managed to keep her conscious thus far, which was what she needed at the moment. Failing to function properly did not make her much of a valuable human.

But her thoughts lingered on those words she had so carelessly proclaimed earlier. _"I promise, I will find him."_

Maybe it had been produced as a side-effect from her lack of sleep, which would have affected her sense of judgment, or maybe it was a subconscious way for her to satiate the pleads from Dr. Skirth. _A promise_ was simply a couple of words, trivial to no limit and easily broken. She had never found it hard to go against a promise, as such concepts seldom made any impact on her in terms of sentiments. Just like the promise she had made Mrs. Rodriguez that day, this was no different.

Yet still … why did it feel like she was obligated to fulfill this one for reasons other than the plausible ones? Locating Mr. Brock and the symbiote would ensure that the Life Foundation would not know about her involvement, and it would also guarantee that she symbiote would note leave corpses in its wake for them to find later on. And still, the reason that fuelled her motivation to keep searching for him was not inflicted by either of the two reasons mentioned above.

But simply because she made a _promise_.

**A promise** – _a declaration or assurance that one will do a particular thing or that a particular thing will happen._

If she could describe the sensation she harbored towards idyllic notions, it would be _(hate? detestation? contempt?) _something she could not put into verbal words. To place someone in a position where the lack of their cooperation would result in severe consequences for both themselves and others was _(cruel? unkind?)_ **unpleasant**. And yet, she had deliberately allowed herself to be caught in such a corner for the sake of something as trivial as … the 'trust' of another woman.

The last time Evelyn made a promise, she went against it without thinking twice because it was expected of her to do everything within her power to ensure the safety of those under her supervision. Whether Mrs. Rodriguez harbored fond opinions of her or otherwise as a result of that betrayal, the oncologist could practically not concern herself with less. If being physically safe came at the cost of losing the one who put you in that vulnerable position to begin with, then Evelyn had severely underestimated her neighbor's subservience.

But this matter was entirely different. Locating Mr. Brock could potentially benefit others as well, instead of just a single individual. This promise had possibly hundreds of lives depending on it as a human body would depend on sustenance for survival. If she failed to locate him, then the symbiote could potentially leave carnage in its wake, discarding Mr. Brock for the sake of selecting a more suitable host instead, then following that same pattern countless times.

This promise …. She had to keep it.

She did not make promises she necessarily intended on keeping, because the last time she did it, she was unable to keep it.

_Promise me you will let me go, even if it hurts._

"Ah, it would seem that Dr. March has finally decided to grace me with her presence at long last," came the voice of someone she had not interacted with for a while, during which she had relished the sound of his absence.

Upon acknowledging him, Evelyn's eyes trailed up and landed on top of the towering figure of Dr. Lambert, smiling down at her with shimmering teeth that looked like they would be able to reflect UVC-lights.

"Dr. Lambert," she greeted him disinterestedly, not wasting any energy on making it seem like she was interested in trivial conversations with him.

"Dr. March." He inclined his head towards her and proceeded to summon a chair and sit down next to the table, coffee in hands and stethoscope around his neck. "Been a while since last time I saw you. Busy?"

"Something's been preoccupying me."

"More so than the miserable atmosphere that usually surrounds this place?" he suggested with a witty grin. "That's a bold change."

She took a sip from her drink, but inclined her head towards him as a sign of affirmation.

"Well, damn." He tilted his head to the side. "If something's important enough for you to neglect your work, then it has to be critical."

"I'm not neglecting my work," she contradicted him. "I'm merely making effort into trying something else."

"Who are you and what have you done to Dr. Evelyn March?"

She narrowed her eyes at him in response to his comment, not finding it particularly amusing. "I am very much the very same person," she responded dryly, not moving her eyes as she reached for her cup to take another drink. The cup barely contained any black liquid left.

"That's what an impersonator would say," he insisted childishly.

"The process of human cloning requires too much time and effort, even with the assets at our disposal," she explained thoroughly. "A considerable amount of time would be spent in order to properly duplicate a human being to the exact state of their mental and physical well–"

"_Alright_, I get it." Dr. Lambert relieved himself of a chuckle. "You're not some impersonator."

"One would suggest that you have spent too much time on pointless movies recently, Dr. Lambert," she suggested. "It would be unnecessary for it to hinder proper work."

"It won't," he assured her. "But at the same time, working excessively is too good for you either. You could afford to get out sometimes, too." Then he squinted his eyes at her, pupils trailing from the top of her head to whatever was beneath her waist which the table did not conceal. "But judging from the bags beneath your eyes, the recently-applied bandages around your neck, and the way you halt when you walk, you already have found something quite intriguing. Mind satiating my curiosity?"

"No." Her answer was brief, simplified to only two letters as to warrant as little as possible in response. However, as she said this, she could feel the ache in her abdomen increase. It reached the point where she could feel her heartbeats vibrate through the abdominal area in which the pain was residing.

Tightening her lips to a line, Evelyn placed her free hand over her stomach without giving too much away from the external eye.

Unfortunately, Dr. Lambert wasn't too out of focus.

"Stomach-ache?"

She begrudgingly nodded.

"Coffee on an empty stomach again?"

"Been occupied," she repeated.

"'It's not good to neglect your physical health', is what I would have said had I not been speaking to a brick wall."

"The human structure is quite different from that of a brick wall, so if you somehow managed to graduate John Hopkins' without the ability to distinguish those two, then I would question the competence of your teachers–"

He rolled his eyes, sighing. "I was being _sarcastic_, March."

"Your attempt at entertaining is most unnecessary, Dr. Lambert," she spoke with a subtle trait of anonymity scattered between her words despite not raising her voice in the slightest. Her green eyes stared into his. "As far as it concerns my physical health, I do not solicit your personal opinions."

"I know," he agreed on, shrugging indifferently. "But Dan has been tearing his hair out recently because of you, so that's another case."

Just as she was about to take another sip of her drink, she halted in the process as those words were processed. Her eyes fell to the black concoction in her hands and her mind once again returned to a disheveled state. The prospect of Dr. Dan being concerned on her behalf did not strike her as remotely surprising but considering the circumstances, this was hardly the appropriate time to be disturbed.

"Dr. Lewis is always in a state of constant distress when it comes to the state of his colleagues–"

"_Evie_,"

Dr. Lambert looked at her solemnly this time, no smirk in sight or any indication that he was amused despite the glare she directed his way in response to that childish nickname.

But he continued. "His compassion isn't only directed towards his patients or his colleagues, but his _friends_, and you're killing him."

He pronounced his sentence with what could easily have been deemed sincerity, although she had no way of knowing for certain whether her judgment was correct. Dr. Lambert, despite his frivolity, was not a man to be underestimated. His movements were stiff as he moved, his facial features were restricted – uncharacteristically so of him – and there was something lacking in his usually conceited demeanor.

But what struck Evelyn as particularly strange was the way the word 'friends' entered the equation. As much as she intended to keep it concealed, Evelyn could not keep a look of _(concern? distress? fear?)_ from entering view. Whether it was obvious or otherwise, the lack of change in Dr. Lambert's physique indicated that she had not made it visible to the external eye. When Dr. Lewis became concerned, he would go to great lengths in order to ensure that the well-being of whomever he was concerned for was stable, even if it was at the risk of his own health.

His selflessness and overall inability to not help others made him the ideal person behind the license of a doctor, but incompetent in terms of logical reasoning. He would have gladly placed himself between a person whose name he didn't even know and a bullet if it meant that he could potentially save the former from an imminent death. It was within the protocol of a physician to prioritize the well-being of others. But likewise, if he was to know of her involvement with the LF and how her life was at peril, he would not hesitate to try and relieve her of that burden.

She looked distantly into the drink in her hand, pondering on the many outcomes his involvement could produce _(DEATH? DEATH? DEATH? TORTURE? DEATH?)_, and none of them were … convenient. Dr. Lewis was a prominent addition to the hospital, an excellent physician whose lack of presence might as well have resulted in the deaths of many. Losing him would be as mutually disadvantageous for everyone as it would have been for her.

However, she did not look away from the fact that many people had already been killed, and _he_ was not the cause of that. That was on _her_, but she did not intend for his name to end up on that list of people whose lives were extinguished because of her contribution. If that was to happen, then …

**What about the fact that **_**human lives**_** are at stake?**

Evelyn would not allow him to die for someone like her.

As much as she loathed to admit it, Evelyn found the prospect of his death to be dreadfully unnecessary. Certainly, she harbored nothing akin to the likes of affinity towards him beyond a professional point, but that did not necessarily mean that she intended for him to die. She would not be responsible for that. If he got himself involved on his own account, then _that_ was on his hands, not hers.

Evelyn was not a murderer to that extent. Her contribution might have resulted in the deaths of many people, but she was not ruthless enough to have someone else die in order to try and relieve her of her own complications.

_It's not going to be missed just 'cause it's dead. Nothing more than a sack of meat the crows will eat._

Although Evelyn did not doubt that the LF could easily make his death seem like an accident, the lack of his presence would most certainly become problematic.

Dr. Daniel Lewis could hence not become involved in this.

_He couldn't. _

_He couldn't. _

_He couldn't. _

_He couldn't._

_**He wouldn't.**_

"That is his own problem." Her eyes met those of Dr. Lambert again, gaze cold and unfazed with the information she had just received in regard to the state of her other colleague. "Dr. Lewis is incapable of restraining his altruism, thus the consequences are his own to manage."

"But the fact that you are partially the cause of his increase in his altruistic ways probably makes you accountable if anything goes sideways because of it," he contradicted, the rim of his coffee-cup reaching his lips to take another sip.

For unfathomable reasons she could not designate, Evelyn felt a spark of something foreign make its way to the center of her chest upon hearing that accusation. Without the rest of her body moving in the slightest, her fingers clenched around the cup to the point where the heat left bright-red marks in her palm.

If Dr. Lewis – If _Daniel_ was placed in a disadvantageous position because he simply could not make her an exception when it came to people he was worried about, if he got involved with the LF and suffered the consequences, how was that logically _her_ responsibility? She did not request for his concern, nor did she intend to have him associated with that unethical organization. That was not her fault – if he was killed or otherwise harmed, then that was not her blame to claim.

_**YOU'RE A MURDERER**_

At worst, perhaps death would have been preferable above the other potential alternatives. The Foundation was running out of people to use, so perhaps they would see fit in exploiting a potential hindrance to their work. Dr. Lewis – rendered to a designation consisting of numbers – would be contained within a cell with an alien parasite inside of him. He would be coughing blood and become rendered to a mindless shell of his former self. They would leave no loose threads, and if he was to die from exposure, then it would be unbearably easy to dispose of the body. Just like they would Ms. Nordstrom's body – just like they would the rest of the bodies of those who had ceased to survive.

_**IT'S YOUR FAULT**_

So many others had been killed, with Maria Nordstrom being neither the first and nor the last. If they were not beneath exploiting people in general, then the prospect of using a prominent surgeon as one of their guinea pigs might not have been too unimaginable.

_**YOU KILLED HIM**_

– _e__verything from the ashen color of her face to the way her veins popped up from where they were not supposed to be visible. Her eyes were ajar, bloodshot and had tears that bore a striking resemblance to ink leaking out of them both; the pupils that had expanded to the point where there was almost no white left in the sclera. Although it had only been less than a couple of hours since she died, it already appeared as though her body had been left decaying for the last couple of days._

The vivid memory of that corpse left her in a state of _(disarray? shock?), _she could scarcely feel her grip around the cup tighten considerably over the course of just a few seconds. She opened her mouth to say something, intending on answering Dr. Lambert's accusations with as cold a response as she could muster, but something caused her to keep her silence.

As she glanced over his shoulder for a split moment, she thought she saw …. She saw a person standing there _(indeterminate gender?)_, glaring at her from the back of the canteen with eyes that lacked pupils and irises and which's scleras had completely consumed both of the eyeballs to the point where it could have been mistaken for blindness…. But the eyes were inhumanly wide, stretching to the edge of their cranium. Their lips parted into a Glasgow-like grin, extending from ear to ear and filled with numerous, large teeth which resembled those of a shark.

"_March_?" She almost missed Dr. Lambert's voice as he tried to regain her attention, yet she still did not respond to him.

Hurriedly without a word, she got up to her feet, accidentally knocking over her coffee-cup and spilling some of the steaming beverage on her coat in the process. The occurrence shook her to the extent where she instinctively moved herself a few steps away from the table, but she only lingered long enough to provide Dr. Lambert with one last look of uncertainty before she left the room entirely.

As she paced through the corridor, Evelyn constantly kept looking over her shoulder in the hope of not seeing anyone following her. Numerous doctors and other members of the staff both walked in her direction and in the opposite direction, which did little to console her. Perhaps the LF had people positioned in the hospital as to keep their eyes on her and ensure themselves of her undying loyalty, or perhaps she was simply imagining it all _(delusions? effects of sleep deprivation?)_.

Wherever she went, she could hear people speaking, yet their voices and the intent of their conversations did not reach her _("have you heard from mom yet?"/"I can't wait to get home."/"I'm going to France next week. Do you want to join, Sarah?"/"W-Where's daddy? Is daddy okay?")_. There was never a moment where silence seemed to be possible; no second of nothingness; not a moment of soundlessness. The constant presence of her colleagues, staff, and patients had never before been an issue she could not handle, but she felt watched. It was the feeling her father always described to her as being simply there, incapable of being put into words. Being a police officer, he often taught her and David to be vigilant no matter what.

But this was ridiculous, utterly ludicrous. Under ordinary circumstances, she would have completely dismissed the sensation as nothing. And yet there she was, under constant wariness and under the impression that someone had not ceased to keep an eye on her movements since her departure from Mr. Axelson's car.

As soon as she passed the door leading into the ladies' bathroom, Evelyn stopped in her steps and did a complete turn. She entered the stalls, slamming the door behind her and making sure that there was no one in there. For once, there was quiet, but it could not compare to the tremors she felt vibrate through her body. Her heartbeats were incapable of being counted, her fingers were shivering, her stance was overall unsteady.

Evelyn cast a look into the mirror, noting the prominent bags beneath her eyes and how considerably paler her complexion had become. The coffee-stains on her coat was still fresh, as were her wounds. Although she had always had bags under her eyes as a subsequent consequence of her unpredictable – and more than often inadequate – sleeping patterns, they were more distinguished now than ever before. Being awake for nearly thirty-six hours straight with barely any sustenance would leave behind prominent traits on her physique.

She leaned over the faucet and plashed a fair amount of water into her face, trying to rid herself of his dread her body was experiencing as well as the tiredness. It did not make sense to her as to why this was happening now. Although the lack of sleep was most likely a contributing factor behind her lack of concentration, it did not excuse the rest of her physical symptoms. Her head felt heavy, her abdomen was still sore, her neck was stinging her. Everything was disorganized.

As she reached for a paper napkin to dry her face, she suddenly felt something slowly descending from her nose. It couldn't be water, because there was a warm temperature accompanying it. It was not until she looked down at the paper napkin that she discovered what it was.

Crimson drops of blood had stained the white material.

She placed a finger beneath her nose and few it back for inspection. It was indeed nosebleeding she was suffering from, but from unknown causes_ (dry air? alcohol abuse = most unlikely?)_. Though she quickly tried to dry it away, leaving behind no evidence on her face, the bleeding would not stop and continued rushing downwards until a few drops landed on her coat, staining the collar of it.

Reaching for another napkin from the dispenser hanging on the wall, Evelyn released an exhale she had contained for longer than she should have _(ten seconds? twenty seconds? thirty seconds?)_ as she placed the napkin over her nose. None of these side-effects could have been caused by sleep-deprivation, and yet she could not find a suitable explanation behind them. It was an unknown sensation, not to be able to find the answer, but it seldom struck her. When it did, it was a bad situation.

_But at the same time, working excessively is too good for you either._

Her intent was to ensure that no more lives were lost and no more unnecessary bloodshed was to occur. If achieving that goal came at the expense of her physical health, then she did not comprehend what was so wrong with it. If her work would make sure that no more people would become subjected to those experiments, that no more lives would be 'sacrificed', that Dr. Lewi– That none of her colleagues would become involved in this, then it would be worth it.

_**AND YET ALL OF THAT HAD BEEN HER FAULT TO BEGIN WITH**_

And still … all she could do now was to keep her promise. She would find Mr. Brock, secure the symbiote, and keep them both out of the Life Foundation's radar. If succeeded, then perhaps there was still a chance for everything to be corrected. If she failed, then she would simply have to manage the consequences of her actions. That was her price to pay for the sins she had committed.

_Everything came at a cost._

_Nothing was ever free._

After washing away most of the stains of her coat and composing herself to the uttermost ability, Evelyn stepped out of the stalls. The number of people in the corridors had decreased considerably, but that did not lessen the unease she experienced. Despite being perfectly capable of keeping it from being visible on her countenance, even Evelyn could not deny the fact that whatever her body was responding to, unless it was dealt with soon, it could compromise with her work.

But as she turned around to head into the direction where the cell of her next patient was, Evelyn found herself halting in her steps and freezing where she stood; immobile yet focused on the scene in front of her. She could see two figures standing further down in the corridor, one of which was the recognizable figure of Dr. Lewis, whereas the other one was …

Her eyes widened.

_It was him._

_Mr. Brock_

* * *

Dora could not find it in herself to relax, or sleep, or even move without feeling like she was at the constant risk of being shot in her steps. Ever since the incident with the infiltrator was reported, there was an increase in security personnel around the labs and the facility altogether. She could feel guards eyeing her wherever she went, grips around their guns, deliberating whether shooting her would satisfy their Head of Security or not.

Treece was another problem she was facing. He was constantly breathing down her neck, convinced that she was somehow involved with what had happened. Although his hypothesis was not incorrect, she could not afford to let him know that. If she was going to die, then Luke would be left all alone, and all she had tried to do for the sake of redeeming herself would have been for nothing. She could only hope that Dr. March was having better luck than herself when it came to avoiding attention.

But now that she thought of it, perhaps the young doctor had a better time processing all of this than she herself could ever hope for. Janine had always called her a prodigy, albeit a Machiavellian one. Moving away from bloodshed and human experiments never seemed like it had struck the oncologist as difficult, not since the day they first met. Therefore, as cynically as it seemed, Dora did not doubt that Dr. March was easily able to move away from the experience with no problem.

Dora looked through the cell where Jacob Markson was being contained, strapped like an animal and constantly exposed to various forms for tests and research; some of which she herself had reluctantly participated with. Food and sustenance had finally entered the equation – they had given him enough to feed a grown elephant – yet something did not seem to add up. They had also tested its limits, and it eventually turned out that the symbiote had a weakness towards sounds between four- and six-thousands hertz.

The symbiote was increasing in size and strength to the point where it was consuming the organs of its host. Mr. Markson was already suffering countless of internal injuries, few of which could be properly diagnosed without the attendance of their primary physician. His liver was failing most prominently, that was for sure. All Dora could say for certain was that, without a new host available, they would lose Mr. Markson as well.

Losing their subject would be a problem to Drake, but losing a human was another – trivial – case for him. His misanthropic attitude seemed to increase the further away they strayed from their initial goals, and it was the very presence of that quality that had initially made her want to work for him, to begin with. His ability to empathize, but it seemed to have completely disappeared.

"Dr. Skirth," Dr. Collins called her after they had finished their general diagnostics of Mr. Markson. "Good work."

"T-Thanks," she hesitantly responded, offering him a shy smile before she exited the lab and headed towards her office with the reports. On the way there, she avoided as many of the guards as she could without looking conspicuous whilst also greeting her colleagues.

But as she reached the door to her office, her entrance was partially blocked by a guard stationed there – one with half of his face concealed behind a mask.

Curious, while also wary, she excused herself past him with a sheepish smile and reached for the handle. The guard suddenly shifted his look to her, eyes unreadable yet also filled with warnings. That look she received from him made her heart drop to her stomach, yet she tried to contain it.

"Is there a problem?" she inquired.

He only shifted his pupils to the door, not saying a word.

This did not decrease the unease she felt surging through her, and that was confirmed quite soon. As she opened the door, to her horror, the sight of the security guard who was on patrol last night came to view, but he was not alone.

Treece was standing there next to the COO, both of whom were looking at her quite predictably over her computer.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Skirth," Treece greeted her coldly. "You've been keeping secrets."

She could not utter a single word as she processed what was happening, not even when the guards escorted her out of the office and back to the labs. Her nerves were shaking as though volts were surging through her, she could not count her breaths, her temperature was decreasing; she could physically feel herself grow paler the closer she came to Drake.

She was done for.

"Sorry to interrupt," Treece said the moment they entered proximity with Drake. He then shoved her forward. "Thought you'd like some good news."

All she could mutter as she met that cold and disappointed look on Drake's was two words.

"I'm sorry."


	21. Chapter 21 - Trust

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom**

**A/N: Hello, guys! Just wanted to give you a quick heads-up. I will be posting occasional fan-art of "Parasitic" on my Deviantart-Account  
**_** X-KuroShiro-X**_

**Feel free to check it out, or feel free to draw some yourself if you want to :) I would genuinely love to see other people's art and their perception of the characters that are portrayed in the story, but only if you feel like it yourself ;)**

**As always, read, enjoy, and please review.**

* * *

**Chapter 21: Trust**

* * *

Betrayal was a concept he loathed entirely; even the taste of it on his lips was enough to make his countenance curl with contempt. Akin to the sensation of bitter salt on his tongue, like cyanide in his drink; benign or otherwise malignant, yet it would destroy you all the same in one way or the other.

Carlton knew the story – of Judas would come to abandon the man he had sworn to follow for a bag of silver. And yet, he had kissed Him as though he was professing his unwavering loyalty, when in reality it would lead to a painful end towards the recipient.

His father, being a devoted Catholic, had introduced him to the story from an early age. While Carlton had seldom shown much interest in religion, even he had to admit that some of the stories he had read about served a purpose. They could describe things that were still relevant to the modern world, how knowledge could lead to pain, or how betrayal could come from anyone – even those you believed stood you closest.

Yet he never imagined that it would ever be something he would later experience, much less from someone he imagined would support him one-hundred percent through thick and thin – a colleague he had come to cherish over the course of the years he had known her. And now she stood in front of him, having just been caught in the act of betraying him; betraying the very cause of his goal.

He was angry, but that alone was an understatement. He was hurt, he was shocked, he was infuriated beyond what words could describe. Still, he managed to contain himself well-enough to come off as composed and docile. It was a quality he had managed to master over the years he had spent working in the business industry. You could never allow people to think that you were emotionally unreliable; that applied to business-partners just as much as it did subordinates.

Dora was shaking where she stood between Treece and Charlie, visibly paling and struggling to pronounce words properly. Her appendages were struggling to compose themselves, and had he not known any better, he would have mistaken her for a criminal caught in the act of trying to rob a bank. She had the face and the demeanor of a civilian with less than cruel intentions, but he knew that she was capable of much more than such pettiness.

She always had been.

But he had to be certain.

"What evidence do you have?" he asked, looking over at Treece with an accusing glance.

His Head of Security proceeded to lift what looked like a hard drive of some sort up in the air, smiling smugly as he did so. "Dr. Skirth was downloading classified information regarding our little project. Who knows what she could have done with that, or why she did it?" That smug little tug on the edge of his lips did not earn Treece any favor from Carlton, but a copious amount of irritation instead.

The CEO glared daggers in the COO's direction. If looks could kill, Marley would be laying in a puddle of his own blood by then, which was a prospect Carlton was very tempted to fulfill had it not been for Charlie's overall competence and usefulness. To target one of their head scientists was, from his own perspective, quite bold – but the evidence they had was unmistakable.

Not to mention that she had practically admitted it all with uttering such a meek apology. It was pitiable, an utter waste of someone he had once considered to be one of the least expendable people at his disposal. He had truly expected that Dora – out of everyone – would stand behind him in all this. He always understood that she was reluctant due to her ethics, but he never imagined that something so loathsome as betrayal would come from her.

But he contained his fury, acting solely on rationality. He always did.

"I want to talk to her alone," he ordered without sparing Treece a glance, continuously staring down at the ecologist who was actively making it her goal to avoiding making the gesture mutual. "Marley, contact Dr. March. Have her escorted here at once."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Just as Dan departed and left the ex-journalist alone in the corridor, Eddie himself was just headed towards the elevator when a firm hand suddenly grasped around his wrist and kept him from moving without a hint of a struggle involved. Instinctively, he shifted around in his stance and prepared to pounce at the offender, arm already raised to strike, when a familiar pair of green eyes suddenly met his.

Realization and recognition both dawned on him as recalled the dark hair and green eyes much easier than he expected. "Wait…. You're–" He had just barely begun to put the name together when the woman abruptly cut him off, grip still firm around his wrist and eyes drilling into his.

"Mr. Brock," she spoke through a sigh, sounding as though she had sprinted a marathon or two in order to get to him. He was still trying to put her name together, having forgotten it sometime ag–

**"_She is _**_**Evelyn March."**_

Eddie instantly scratched the back of his head, hoping that whatever was speaking inside his head would keep the volume down long enough for him to clear his mind. "S-Shut up for once," he growled vehemently, lowering his head and avoiding looking back at the doctor. And still, he found that the words that the name suddenly sounded…. Familiar.

Hesitantly, he glanced up at her again. "E-Evelyn March, right?"

"Mr. Brock, you need to leave right now," she commanded without even answering his question first, hand still locked around his wrist without indicating that she intended on letting go anytime soon.

He blinked in confusion before he shook her hand off him, though not without struggle. "L-Look, I think I might have gotten some kind of illness from that lab of yours, some virus or something has contaminated me –"

"It's not a virus," she firmly debunked, resuming with her composed demeanor as she crossed her arms over her chest, not breaking the eye-contact she had established with him. It was not until then that Eddie noticed the darkened bags that decorated the underside of her eyes. She had had them since the moment they first met, but to a lesser extent. Now, it seemed like sleep had been a privilege she had been deprived of for quite some time.

"Mr. Brock," She made sure to keep her voice down, occasionally glancing over his shoulder as if to make sure that no one was listening. "They're currently looking for the infiltrator, so I would advise you to keep yourself out of the city for the time being."

Upon hearing this, he shook his head defiantly. "W-Wait a moment, I'm not going anywhere," Now that he finally had evidence to give to Jack, he could get his old life back. Leaving the city would maybe blow up that chance for good, and that was not a risk he was quite willing to take yet unless his life depended on it. But despite his reluctance, a part of him did feel like it did.

The doctor's face suddenly twisted to a vague scowl, and she opened her mouth to snap something at him, but then she unexpectedly calmed down and shut her mouth again, ceasing her verbal assault. Those green eyes narrowed at him, as though she was observing him like a specimen on display.

Then, without warning, she reached for his hand and held it up to her face, inspecting it both up and down, side to side. Her gaze was slowly fixated on the edge of his nails all the way to his knuckles, stretching them out and folding them repeatedly.

He could feel his cheeks grow warm. "H-Hey, what are you–"

"Are you currently in any pain, Mr. Brock?" she inquired without looking away from his palm, occasionally turning it around. "Any noticeable change anywhere?"

"W-Well, I've been a little nauseous lately, and very hungry too. Not to mention that I have a migraine that could have matched the size of a trailer," he slowly answered after a moment of deliberation with himself. "Why?"

Her eyes narrowed again and she slowly dropped his hand back down again. Suddenly, she took a firm step closer to him and pulled out something from the pocket of her coat. Without speaking and before he could question her, she reached for his eye and suddenly stretched it open to light a small beam into it.

Startled, Eddie was on the verge of moving out of reach, taken aback by this suddenness, but he stayed where he was and didn't move. The light was firs aimed straight into his right eye, then she proceeded to do the same to his left eye. The vague scent of mint reached him as he inhaled through his nostrils, which he tried his best to block out.

After a couple of seconds of examination, the doctor pulled the light away. "Pupil constriction is normal, the bloodshot eyes are most likely caused by stress or sleep-deprivation, but nothing too severe to have been caused by internal abnormalities," she noted, making Eddie wonder whether she was informing him of that or herself.

She then pulled back from, sighing as she drew a hand over her face. "This just makes matters more complicated."

"What does? What's going on?"

"As I informed you of, Mr. Brock, you need to leave the city immediately."

Again, he shook his head defiantly. "I can't go,"

She glared at him, causing the ex-journalist to freeze where he stood, feeling cold all of the sudden. If looks could kill, he would most likely have died on the spot.

"The Life Foundation has its eyes set on the infiltrator," she explained thoroughly. "Every measure has been taken to try and locate him. But it is not just because he managed to get away with valuable information regarding their experiments."

He raised an eyebrow, not liking where this was going. "Why else would they?"

She opened her eyes again and looked straight into his. "Because one of the symbiotes is currently bonded with you, Mr. Brock,"

Mutual silence befell the two of them in the middle of the corridor where they were standing, none making any attempt at breaking it just yet. Eddie could feel prickling up his skin as his head processed these words, suddenly recalling how Maria had attacked him back at that lab ….

_Maria_ …

What had earlier been curiosity and confusion was replaced with anger and contempt, and he felt his chest pound with fury. His hands knotted themselves into fists and he could feel his nails dig into his palm to the point where it hurt, but he did give a damn about that. He had seen first hand what kind of fucking shit the Life Foundation had been up to, yet he had forgotten that he was currently standing to before one of those fucked-up killers who had been in on it,

Eddie took a firm step towards her, his entire being shaking as he recalled what had happened the previous night and his weight slowly descending further down the scale. Maria had been there all along, experimented on, tortured, _killed_. He had watched her die right in front of him.

And the very person standing in front of him had contributed to her death and now even had the guts to tell _him_ what to do.

"Why should I listen to you?" he questioned through gritted teeth, making sure to keep his temper at a low unless he wished to warrant any unnecessary attention from the patients walking by in the corridor. It took a great deal of effort, however, to do so.

Dr. March's face remained completely void of any emotions, reminding him of a lifeless machine he had seen on the TV. But her right eyebrow raised just a little bit like she found his behavior to be surprising.

It pissed him off even more. Could she not understand that he was far from content with what had happened? Was she simply indifferent to the circumstances so much that she could not comprehend anything about it?

"Why are you reluctant to follow my advice?" the dark-haired woman suddenly asked, sounding genuinely curious. "I am currently telling you the necessary actions required in order to keep you aliv–"

"_You. Killed. Her_."

He vocalized those words so vehemently, so coldly, yet so uncharacteristically _calmly_ that it was hard to imagine that they came from him. Eddie never imagined that someone as impulsive as him would be able to say something so sharp as that with so little volume as he did. If this was a side-effect of this affliction he was currently struggling with, then it wasn't all bad after all.

The doctor was silent again after this, but her posture did not change, nor did her facial expressions (or lack thereof). Those remained as nonexistent as ever, but her eyes gradually descended to the floor, ceasing to meet his gaze. Slowly, her left hand trailed up to her neck, where he discovered that a layer of bandages had been applied, and she tugged on them ever-so-slightly.

"What killed Ms. Nordstrom currently resides within you, Mr. Brock, and the Life Foundation is searching for it," she explained, not raising her voice in the slightest. "They are going to use whatever means necessary in order to retrieve it, which is why I need you to listen."

"_**Listen to her, Eddie."**_

_That damned voice_.

Again, he ignored it, refusing to listen to something that was produced from the core of his brain. He shifted his glare back at the doctor, mustering the strength to keep his voice down just enough for the conversation to appear civil in the eyes of others. "You're so concerned for my well-being when you so haphazardly killed all of those people? That's some bullshit right there."

Her eyes flickered down again for a second before they returned back to him. "I did not kill them,"

Eddie scoffed at this, not believing her a single bit."Well, you did well in making them suffer. I've met countless people like you; people who do whatever's convenient for them regardless of whom it affects. Only when it affects _you_ does it become a concern. In reality, you're just like Drake. Hell, why not spare yourself the trouble already and tell them where I live so that they can come get me, huh? Much easier that way, right?"

In the core of his head, he knew that it was stupid-ass decision, but he didn't care at the moment. Hell, the LF could bite his ass for all he cared, it wouldn't matter. With that, he reached for his pocket and pulled out his notebook and a pen, the same ones he used during his interview with that fucking CEO. After scribbling down his address, Eddie tore the page out of the book, then crumbled it to a ball and threw it straight at the woman.

Of course, with it being a shitty piece of paper, it did not travel very fast nor land very hard, as the doctor easily snatched it before it hit the floor. Though she did unfold it, her eyes scanning across what was written, she did not smile or give any impression that she was looking for a way to exploit it.

This, Eddie had to admit, was a surprise. He imagined that someone like her would be thrilled at the prospect of satisfying their bosses as long as it was convenient for them, but she did not give off that vibe at all. No smile or anything. In fact, he had never seen her smile.

But before any of them could speak again, the sound of a cellphone caught both of their attention and broke the silence. The doctor suddenly snatched the phone from her coat and looked down at the caller's ID, which was labeled as UNKNOWN NUMBER. Giving him a quick look, Dr. March gestured for him to be silent, which he obliged to, to the point where he held his breath.

The doctor accepted the call and listened to what the person on the other line had to say, plausibly someone from the LF. So far, she did not reveal his location, which came as a surprise.

Then, Eddie could see something akin to shock fall upon her features. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but he was quick to observe the way her pupils grew smaller and how her mouth became a thin line. If it was fear she was feeling, then she was doing a fine job in hiding it. However, to see someone like her experience it did not make the situation seem any easier.

That could not be good.

A short moment passed before she finally ended the call with a final "Understood," reassuming the stern demeanor the ex-journalist had grown to find disturbing about her.

The doctor's eyes quickly met his again, though there were something different about them now. They seemed heavier, but in a way he could not describe with words.

He noticed how her fingers were clutched firmly around the cellphone to the point where he thought she would break it in her grip.

"They have Dr. Skirth,"

He did a double-take, heart diving down to the bottom of his stomach, his breath caught in his throat; all anger and inner turmoil he felt surging through his body earlier seemed to vanish in an instant. How could it be possible? He had just texted her a short while ago, where Dr. Skirth said she was fine.

Eddie wanted to say something, yet he could not find the appropriate words. Perhaps he had heard wrong, or maybe it was just some kind of trick his brain had on him. It seemed to have a lot of those recently. "They _what_?"

She closed her eyes, exhaling through her nose while deliberating her answer. "Dr. Skirth has been found out," she repeated, her features growing sharper as her eyes reopened "Carlton is currently interrogating him for herself and they require my presence."

"Why?"

"I … do not know, but I will be escorted there at once. They gave no indication that they figured out your identity, so you remain out of their radar for the time being."

She did not utter another word, although she moved her mouth as though she wanted to say something else. Eddie stood there in anticipation, expecting her to say something that would somehow make the situation seem brighter than it really was. Dr. Skirth was, from what he had perceived, not someone who deserved whatever Drake was about to throw at her.

But he received no answer from the doctor, and without a word, she walked slowly past him and towards the elevator behind him.

Just as he was about to expect her absence, she suddenly stopped beside him, catching him off-guard in his stance. He looked at her over his shoulder, but she did not make the ex-journalists stare a mutual gesture.

"For your sake, Mr. Brock, heed my advice and stay low for the time being," she instructed. "Do not let them locate you."

Eddie did not say a word, but he begrudgingly nodded. By no means did he trust her, but there seemed like there was little else he could do but follow her words for now. Having the LF on your back was what he considered to be one of the first signs that meant that you were fucked. Getting out of the city was not something he had intentions of doing, but staying concealed for a while might be the second-best option he had at his disposal.

That was one thing, but having one of those … _things_ inside of him. Thinking back at what she had said, Eddie clutched a hand over his chest, deliberating on whether what had recently happened to him was a result of that or something else entirely…. But if that was the case, then how come he wasn't dead already? Why wasn't he coughing up blood or something, or deranged like Maria had looked like in her final moments?

Regardless, he deemed that the best thing would be to wait for answers from Dan before he jumped to any conclusions.

But the thought still haunted him.

"…I did not intend for her to die."

Eddie looked over his shoulder, expecting to meet the doctor's gaze but finding himself looking at the back of her head instead, as her face was turned away from him.

"Maria Nordstrom … did not deserve what happened to her."

Her voice …. It had changed. That was the first thing he noticed. Whereas it had sounded monotonous and calm before, he could detect traits of a lower volume now than before, as well as remorse. Like always, it was discreet and barely audible, but it was there nonetheless for him to listen to. He could gradually feel the contempt he harbored towards her decrease ever-so-slightly, but it never vanished entirely. Though he remained skeptical, he would give her the benefit of the doubt.

For now.

"Good luck," he finally muttered. "Something tells me you're gonna need it."

The sound of the elevator opening and descending notified him of her absence, and all he could pray for was that things would work out. One way or the other. Despite being raised a Roman Catholic, Eddie was skeptical towards Him, as well as his miracles. After everything he had seen, Eddie knew that everything that was created in this world was created by humans, be it good or bad. A deity played no part in it, which made the outcome even more unpredictable than he could ever hope to imagine.

* * *

As Evelyn stepped out into the first floor, she did not waste time approaching the exit. Though the distance was short between the elevator and the doors, she spent the short amount of time she had left at her disposal to try and figure out a plan that would provide with convenient outcomes for her predicament.

But there were almost none.

While Marley had not indicated awareness towards her own involvement over the phone, he was an unpredictable individual. Arrogant, certainly, but nonetheless unbearably unpredictable

For all she knew, Dr. Skirth could have revealed it all to them over the short while she had been interrogated by them. While the chances were slim, considering how determined the ecologist had appeared to be in shutting the experiments down, the oncologist did not exclude them during her internal assessment of the situation.

But even so, when she had first heard the COO inform her of their discovery regarding the ecologist, Evelyn had experienced a strange physical sensation. Instead of a pull in her entire chest, she had felt her heart accelerate increasingly in just a matter of seconds; her breath had stopped momentarily, her body temperature seemed like it had dropped a couple of degrees _(Hypothermia? = Conclusion: unlikely)_. Though she could name over a dozen reasons why her body was going through such physical changes, she somehow doubted any of them were correct.

Another thing that kept repeating itself at the back of her head was how utterly imbecilic that woman must have been to download such valuable information when they already had what they required for their plan to work. Such impulsive behavior was unacceptable, a trait Evelyn harbored little favor towards. A human quality which more than often caused people to behave irrationally even when the situation demanded for the opposite.

As she turned around a corner, too focused on what was going through her head, she felt her head suddenly bump into something and she abruptly stopped in her steps. Murmuring something of an apology without addressing the other person, Evelyn was quick to resume with the same pace until a hand suddenly grasped around her wrist, holding her back.

"Evelyn? What's up?" asked a familiar voice filled.

Acknowledging the fact that she recalled the person quite well, too much for her comfort in fact, Evelyn halted in her steps and shifted around in her stance, finding herself facing none other than the very person she wished she would not encounter on that particular day. The very person whose presence she could not afford to have near her own under these circumstances.

Dr. Lewis.

Sharpening her eyes, Evelyn glowered at him and pulled her hand out of his hold. "Dr. Lewis, other matters currently require my attention," she stated bluntly, noticing how his eyes seemed to scrutinize her somewhat skeptically upon processing her answer.

The surgeon seemed intent on saying something, but then his mouth shut as his eyes trailed up to her neck. His gaze instantly turned to one of _(concern? shock? worry?)_.

Evelyn kept a stern demeanor despite deducing that he had managed to notice the bandages around her neck behind the collar of her shirt. It was something she had intended to stay out of his attention, but it proved useless at this point. It was inconvenient, but there was nothing she could do about it.

When he made a gesture which indicated that he was about to move towards her to further inspect the bandages, taking a step towards her and reaching his arm forward, the oncologist quickly snatched the upcoming wrist in one swift movement and prevented him from coming closer, keeping a firm grip until she was certain that he had ceased his attempt.

But even though his movements lessened, she recognized that expression on his face. While she could not put a specific designation on it, she knew that he usually wore it whenever he was trying to save someone or if he was about to get involved in something that he knew did not require his attendance but would receive it either way. She had seen him make similar expressions ever since their time at John Hopkins', and to see it aimed towards her this time meant that difficulties would arise.

Difficulties she could not afford to manage at this given moment.

"Evelyn, what's going on with you?" he asked firmly, jaw tightening.

She continued to look disinterestedly at him, aware of the consequences that would affect both of them if she decided to be foolish enough to elaborate on the subject. "I am incapable of comprehending where this accusation originates from," she responded with, letting go of him in an instant while not looking away from him.

He released a heavy breath. "Don't lie. You have missed several of your shifts already. The director considered suspending you, but I had to talk her out of it. You have neglected your sleep, you halt when you walk, and now you have injured your neck. What is that?"

"You are miscalculating, Dr. Lewis." Her answer remained as neutral as the rest of her posture did, her voice kept at an even volume and her body not moving exaggeratively in any way. "Observation was seldom within your field of expertise, so do not assume to be particularly capable of such."

He shook of the insult with ease. "I'm not pretending, Evelyn, but _you_ are," he contradicted her, shifting his gaze to the floor and averting his aggression. He went completely mute for approximately five seconds before he regained his ability to speak again, yet he still refrained from looking directly at her. Over the course of those seconds, Evelyn was already prepared to make a direct approach towards the exit, deeming her colleague's unrequired concern to be trivial.

"You can trust me, Evelyn. I care about you, and I do not want to see you hurt,"

Again, the oncologist found herself exasperated with this display of concern, processing his words internally while trying to differentiate- and analyze them in a way which she could understand. However, it did not take her as long as it would have with any other person, because Dr. Lewis was predictable in terms of intentions. He '_cared'_ too much, and that was a quality she harbored contempt towards, but only when it came from _him._

_**"But Dan has been tearing his hair out recently because of you, so that's another case."**_

_**"But the fact that you are partially the cause of his increase in his altruistic ways probably makes you accountable if anything goes sideways because of it,"**_

_**"Because that is what friends do."**_

"Dr. Lewis," she said through a short-lived sigh, understanding what was necessary to say in order for him to remain uninvolved in all of this. "You truly are a fool."

Her answer affected him physically because his eyes grew slightly and his stance seemed to change to a stiffer one. Yet still, he managed to keep his equanimity in check, though not without any effort. From where she stood, she almost failed to recognize the same man who would continuously inquire her about her well-being on a daily.

And she knew that it was the reason why she had to continue, no matter how much her chest seemed to grow tighter and tighter the more words she pronounced. She knew what to do, and how to do it effectively.

"You continuously place your attention where it is not wanted, making you nothing less of a nuisance whenever you do so," she explained without pause and without raising her voice at all. She placed her right hand in one of her pockets, feeling her fingers unconsciously clutch against the white fabric within. "You are under the impression that the more concern you display towards others, the more useful you are. However, you are quite mistaken, Dr. Lewis." She never once looked away from him, making sure that her eyes met his the entire time. "You remain just as useless as you have always been. Even with your competence, you are expendable. I neither solicit your opinions nor your concern for my well-being. So I would appreciate it if you refrained from such inappropriate behavior and restrained yourself for future references."

What she had said did not strike her as something she was a stranger towards vocalizing on a daily; she was well-aware of the fact that her colleagues and patients alike found her blunt opinions and statements to be 'offending', but it had never affected her in ways she deemed personal. She had never cared to bother herself with what others thought of her.

And yet, seeing the face of a colleague she often saw smiling suddenly become severe and unreadable seemed … _strange_. Although she had not vocalized her opinion with any traits of _(anger? exasperation?) _involved, she knew that such was not essential in order for her words to hit their target. In what way they would affect him, she could not tell for certain, but it did not matter as long as they succeeded in fulfilling the purpose she had intended for them.

To get him to stay away from her, for as long as possible.

Dr. Lewis was silent, uncharacteristically so, and she could see that his lips parted just a little, as though what he intended to say was not something he wished to pronounce aloud for others to hear, including her.

However, Evelyn decided not to grant him the moment he needed and simply turned around and walked away from him, leaving the surgeon standing there in the hallway on his own while she descended down the corridor, not offering him any more attention.

But as the oncologist walked through the hallway, she made it a priority to keep herself from overthinking about the choice she had made, but it was challenging. That decision she had made was the most logical one she could make in this situation, and it would ensure that fewer people would be involved in the situation she had caused for herself. Now that Dr. Lewis was sure to keep himself at bay, if her calculations had been correct, it meant that he would live and contribute to a functional society instead of ending up like Ms. Nordstrom.

He would not risk his own life in order to save that of someone who was no longer of his concern, who had openly vocalized her indifference towards him.

And even so, no matter how many times she told herself that it was the most rational decision to make, Evelyn seemed unable to discard how heavy she felt inside of her ribs. If she had to compare it to something, it would be like having several pounds of stones placed on top of your chest. Although she had never experienced said sensation, she lacked better words for it.

While Dr. Lewis would live, she was uncertain of her own life.

But for some unfathomable reason, she did not feel any weight placed upon her while contemplating on how plausible it would be for her to meet the same fate numerous of her patients had suffered. In comparison to the prospect of Dr. Lewis' death, the prospect of her own one seemed … tolerable.

A black Mercedes was parked outside of the hospital's entrance, one she knew for certain was not there a little while ago. In terms of speed and efficiency, the Foundation seldom allowed themselves to be perceived as anything less than professional. It did not require a pair of exceptionally sharp eyes in order to observe that, which was exactly what she did once she stepped outside.

Evelyn scrutinized the vehicle for a brief second, trying her best to make out the face of the driver in the window. However, the window of the driver's seat was too dark for her to notice anything but the shape of a male's head (_lacking hair? Pointy round nose? Height approx. 5"9 – 5"11 if standing._) Based on these observations alone through the obscured window, the oncologist did not put a lot of effort into deducing the driver's identity.

Roland Treece.

Needless to say, she knew not to let her guard down in the presence of him.

Without a word, she opened the seat to the backside and got inside, making sure that her reactions to anything he would say were subtle to the point of nonexistence. It was not hard to mask her intentions behind the exterior of a stern countenance, but Treece was prone to the use of violent methods. Violent methods she had experienced first-hand, which she knew could result in her end then and there.

Dying would be problematic now, especially considering she had so much work left to do. While she did not exclude her premature death as being an unlikely outcome, it was not one she was enthusiastic about seeing through anytime soon. Much less at the hands of a primitive individual like Roland Treece.

But much to her suspicion, he was quiet over the course of the entire drive to the facility. Only occasionally did he glance in the rear-view mirror, but there came no sound from him. No chuckle. No sigh. Nothing. She had anticipated an arrogant gesture from him, whether it was boasting statements or otherwise trivial sayings she knew better than to care for, but none of the sorts came her way.

Only silence.

But what she once considered a privilege now seemed like a mere warning that something ominous was approaching in the distance. Her father had often told her that feeling things like that usually meant that something bad _was_ coming, but she had seldom listened to such ludicrous concepts such as 'sixth senses'. The paranormal perspective was an unreliable one, but this time, she took her father's advice into careful consideration.

After all, it did not seem too irrational to heed a police officer's advice when you were stranded in a predicament such as this one.

When they arrived at the facility, Evelyn was followed closely by Treece until they were back at the labs, where there were surprisingly few scientists present, but a large number of guards made up for the missing amount instead. Neither Drake nor Dr. Skirth was present as far as she could tell, but she quickly recognized the arrogant stance of Mr. Marley as he approached them both from the distance, grinning as always.

"Ah, Dr. March, so good of you to join us again," he greeted her as enthusiastically as ever, placing himself a few feet in front of her. "I do hope Treece behaved himself this time, otherwise Carlton's gonna give him hell again." He looked over her shoulder and to the guard. "You hear that, _Roland_?"

The Head of Security only nodded once, confirming the answer he knew would please the COO.

"Good, good," Marley praised him before returning his attention back to the doctor, suddenly tilting his head slightly to the side. "Is it just me, or do you look awfully exhausted, doctor?"

She nodded. "I am in functioning condition, Mr. Marley,"

However, he shook his head at her statement, displeased. "As someone of such importance to us as you, dear Doctor, we cannot afford to have you risk your own health in the process. While I am no expert in medicine such as yourself, I do believe that a proper amount of sleep is a mandatory requirement in order for you to be at your best."

"I can assure you that my physical state of being is currently stable, as it will not interfere with our work in any way." Her words were meant to assure him that their work was her priority. As always, lying was not a difficult task, especially not when it was aimed towards someone who exploited such methods in mutual degree.

He chuckled and gestured to over his shoulder towards the entrance to the other labs. "Very well, then. Carlton has requested that you meet both him and Dr. Skirth by the cells as soon as you arrived."

As she prepared to move, Evelyn cast one short glance over her shoulder where Treece was positioned, feeling cautious beyond excessively. He was looking at her, but his face was indecipherable, thus making his motives more so. This change of behavior was something she had not foreseen; it made him unpredictable, and as always, she did not favor things whose movements or actions she could not predict beforehand.

Much less someone as dangerous as Treece.

But she kept her thoughts for herself and made her way towards the entrance to the labs further located into the building, passing by countless guards and few scientists on the way. They would occasionally look at her from their peripheral vision, observing her movements like she was a ticking time-bomb about to explode. However, she did not let her focus remain on them for longer than she deemed necessary, which wasn't a lot, and stepped into the labs, noticing how no one, neither guards or other security personnel, seemed obliged to keep track on her.

The door closed behind her and silence filled the empty space, but only for a short while. She recognized the area of the facility she was standing in; the same one where they would expose the patients to the symbiotes and otherwise leave them to suffer the consequences should the bonding prove incompatible. It was a place which reeked of death, and standing there again ….. she clenched her hands together and continued down.

* * *

He was really starting to question his sanity, for each moment he was awake to be precise. Sure, he had not been sleeping very well recently, and his diet was not something he would recommend to anyone who wanted to lose a few pounds for the summer, but that still would not excuse the constant nagging at the back of his head that was tormenting him every moment of the day.

And for some reason, it was constantly complaining about food.

While he did not know what the side-effects of having an alien parasite inside him included, Eddie did not want to assume that talking to him through his head like some sort of telepathic thing could be considered one of them. That was just ridiculous, and the primary reason why he would just continue to give Dan the benefit of the doubt and hope that the surgeon could provide with any reliable information that did not include the chances of an extraterrestrial organism having a party inside of him.

Just as he placed a batch of tater tots into the oven, finding himself sharing a mutual hunger with the voice inside his head, his phone began to ring. Upon accepting it, he was instantly greeted with the warm sound of Anne on the other line.

He could feel butterflies in his stomach. "Oh, hey, Anne."

"_Eddie, hi. How're you feeling?"_

"Done. I'm sick." It was an easy answer. Brief and non-elaborative, but simple enough to describe the constant migraine he had been feeling throughout the day.

And Anne's response did not make things any better. "Eddie, you have a parasite."

Great, so there was a logical explanation behind it after all. He could feel his chest become lighter upon hearing those news.

" – _They're not exactly sure how you got it, but it would explain the fever."_

"That would make sense," he agreed. "Also, I'm hearing– I'm hearing a voice."

"_Auditory hallucinations are actually pretty common,"_

And as soon as it vanished, the ten-pound rock in his chest plummeted back at the sound of Dan's voice, but he did not necessarily dislike having the doctor there to describe things to him. It was just a little …. Awkward.

"Oh, hey, Dan. How're you doing? Didn't realize you were on the call too."

"_Yeah, I'm here."_

Despite his initial reluctance, Eddie soon began to describe the weird things he had been experiencing, going as far as to mention the fact that he had, through some magical way, managed to jump up to a twenty-feet tall tree. However, it was through that explanation that he began to hear that dreaded voice once again.

"_**Yes, we just did."**_

Just like he had earlier, the ex-journalist had tried to listen to the voice. It was just a simple 'auditory hallucination', as Dan had put it. But when the doctor suggested that he would be provided with medication in order to battle his condition, the voice returned back, audibly more aggressive in comparison to earlier.

"_**Never gonna happen."**_

And trying to talk back to it did not do him much good, as it caused misunderstandings on the other line with Anne. Seeing as it would be easier to talk to them after all of that had passed, Eddie made sure to sincerely thank them both for their help and end the call.

"Jesus fucking christ," he mumbled to himself and drew both of his hands over his face, sighing his lungs empty. "Fuck this shit."

And when things truly could not seem to get any worse than they already were, the sound of blasting music echoed through his walls from his neighbor's apartment, just as a surge of unbearable pain started to vibrate through his entire body, like bullets were flying through every atom of his very being. His ears began to ring so loudly that he could not hear a single thing, his appendages began to shake, his chest began to ache like a war was going on inside there.

After spontaneously kicking his chair and trying to drown the sound out with his hands over his ears, he quickly realized that it did little good to just stand there and do nothing. While he had tried to endure the hellish sound his neighbor would be demented to call 'music', Eddie stormed over to the apartment opposite of him and slammed on the door several times, creating a few cracks in the wood as he went.

To his momentary relief, the noise stopped and the door opened, revealing that shit-for-brains hippy of a neighbor, who just looked at him like _he_ was the one with the fucking problem.

"Yeah?"

"Hey," Eddie greeted somewhat distantly as he held his weight up between the doorframes. "Could you turn your music down, please? 'Cause I'm having a really hard time?"

But the hippy only scoffed. "_Whatever_."

His lips suddenly seemed to grow larger and his eyes were surprising… sharp. He glared daggers at his neighbor in spite of his earlier attempt at being civil, but much to his surprise (and relief), the neighbor suddenly flinched and his skin paled considerably, indicating that the glare had more of an effect than he anticipated.

"Yeah, sure man. I'll just t-turn it right d-down."

With that, Eddie uttered an inaudible 'thank you' and closed the door, content with the silence that was now surrounding him.


	22. Chapter 22 - Sealed Fates

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom**

**A/N: So, I initially planned for this chapter to be longer, but seeing it as I'm already at about 6 600 words, making this story over 100 000 words long, I thought it would be good to pause it where it is now. More coming shortly.**

**Additional art will be posted on my DeviantArt account X-KuroShiro-X**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 22: Sealed Fate**

* * *

Dora tried to keep it inside, the fear she felt bulging up inside like a black hole draining her of any energy she might have stored in that frail body of hers. Her body was shivering in the presence of Drake, her will to say something was quickly declining from its initial height, and she swore she was reeking with sweat as well. Her composed demeanor, as successful as it might have been, it could not fool herself into believing that she was anything but utterly terrified.

When Drake first had them both separated from the rest, she had expected him to pull out a gun from his coat and shoot her on the spot. It would not have mattered if he had done it in front of the others or not, but fewer witnesses could make up for a more convenient spot for disposal.

However, over the course of the time they had been standing there by the containment cells, separated from the rest of the world only by transparent walls, he had not said a word. Dora had been standing there, mere feet away from him, expecting him to do the finishing move each moment that passed them by.

Yet Drake had remained quiet. His stature, while intimidating and cold by nature, did not move an inch towards her. His eyes, fixated on her with barely any blinking, seemed like they were piercing through the core of her soul, searching for the answers she had refused to admit verbally. In his black suit and height, he stood like the Grim Reaper in front of her; unpredictable, yet fatal to the touch.

Then finally, he spoke up. "Did you do it?"

Dora almost instantly snapped her head up to look directly at him, something she had been fearful of doing during the last minutes she had spent alone with him. The tone of his voice was so … evenly distributed between calm and neutral that it almost shook her entirely. _How_ could he be so tranquil when he had just been faced with betrayal?

"I …. I could not go through with it anymore," she answered while barely breathing, afraid that saying the wrong things might ignite a fuze within him that was just waiting to be lit. "I'm sorry,"

"I don't understand." He sounded so disappointed in her, almost like a parent chastising their child for doing something they were not supposed to. Hearing that from a man who had more than a few weapons at his disposal, however, was much more severe than the comparison she had used to describe the sensation.

He continued, slowly pacing back and forth as he spoke, threading soundlessly over the floor tiles. "We were so close to success, yet you decided to turn your back on your cause and potentially destroy everything we sought to create." His words were heavy, filled with resentment, yet ever-so-calm. "I thought you wanted to save people, Dora. I thought you believed in us."

"I– I _did_!" she suddenly cried out, unable to contain herself any longer. Her breath got caught in her throat. "I wanted us to save people, to make a better world. I just didn't want us to harm people in the process, no matter how 'unimportant' they were."

Her response seemed to anger him, and she could hear his voice growing increasingly tighter the next time he spoke. "Is that what you were thinking of me?" Drake asked accusingly, placing a hand over his chest as he stopped walking. The abrupt change in his movements echoed through the stillness. "That I viewed them as _unimportant_ people just because they were homeless tramps?"

"N – No, I didn't–"

"_I_ gave those people, who had nothing, something to believe in." He gritted his teeth. "I gave them a purpose when they previously had none. They were important before they even came here; I just made sure that it would be remembered by everyone else. How could you think so _evil_ about me?"

By this point, Dora felt like she was on the verge of shedding the tears that had been gathering in the corners of her eyes. The way Drake so vehemently expressed his disappointment in her was just …. Overwhelming. It wasn't supposed to be, considering how they had killed dozens of innocent people for his own agenda, and yet she could not help but feel …. Regret.

But she contained herself just in time for him to turn his back around, hands placed on each hip as he seemed to be contemplating something. "But I need you to tell me something, Dora. Was Dr. March involved in this?"

Upon hearing this, Dora felt herself forgetting to breathe, not knowing what to do or how to answer without making it conspicuous what it was she was trying to do.

Would ratting her colleague out …. Secure her own safety? Would it make sure that Dora could go home again in one piece and embrace her boy without fearing for his or her own life? Would it make her able to continue working, or would it not change a thing.

As far as the ecologist knew, Evelyn March was a lonesome individual in the city, neither in a relationship with another part or in any meaningful relationship with anyone else for that matter. She was alone and generally unlikeable. Her family was not close as far as she could tell, nor would her absence be missed by anyone she knew of.

Why would Dora risk her own life and a future with her son for the sake of such a despicable human being as her? Someone who neither valued her own life nor that of others? Someone who was simply there, but could easily be replaced?

_**Someone who behaved so unbearably much like Drake himself.**_

Perhaps someone like her _deserved_ to die?

A person who was incapable of feeling love, of loving someone else.

"She–" As she was about to answer, Dora stopped before another word could escape her.

"_**Surely you love – or have loved – someone in your life."**_

"_**Once."**_

Perhaps … that 'once' was enough? Maybe she did not need – nor deserve – to die?

Acknowledging that she had almost just snitched on someone else for her own benefit, Dora wanted to gag and she could feel her stomach churning inside her. It was a despicable act, coming from her, to behave like such a coward.

In what world did she have the right to evaluate someone else and condemn them?

She may have contributed to the death of many, but she was not a killer in that sense.

She did not have the liberty of doing that.

Besides, even if she did expose her involvement to Drake, then it would not just automatically guarantee her own safety. At worst, it might cause them both to end up on the wrong side of the gun, and that would most definitely guarantee that they would fail in stopping Drake.

"She did not know of it," she found herself saying, clenching her hand beneath the fabric of her sleeve she spoke. Dora took a deep breath. "Dr. March came to me last night and asked me for my help. As she had not yet acquired a pass-card to access the lab, she asked me for help to get inside and finish her work. I …." She paused. "I took the opportunity and got the infiltrator inside without warranting her attention; I snuck him inside the car before I picked her up, then got him inside the labs while her back was turned."

She prayed to whatever God existed up in the heavens above that he could not see through her lie. In hindsight, the only thing she lied about was the oncologist's personal involvement in the matter, but that alone could sound conspicuous if she allowed just a smidge of truth – only the truth – to make it through her words.

Afterward, there was silence again. Drake did not move, nor did he turn around to face her. Likewise, Dora could not muster the courage to request anything from him. But why was he not saying anything, or trying to make out whether she was talking honestly or otherwise? Why was he … so quiet about everything?

Yet as she opened her mouth, another voice claimed the opportunity to speak.

_"Mr. Drake, Dr. Skirth,"_

* * *

"Earth to Dan, are you okay?"

The surgeon snapped his head towards Frank upon hearing him address him, but he could not muster a smile to come forth. Through a sigh, he lifted his chin up from his folded hands and leaned back into his seat, facing the ceiling from where he sat by the table.

"Just thinking," he mumbled.

Frank raised an eyebrow. "I can practically see smoke coming from your ears, buddy. Wanna elaborate on what it is that you are thinking so carefully about?"

Lifting his head forward again, Dan eyed his colleague with a skeptical yet inquisitive look. "Be frank–"

"Already am,"

He rolled his eyes but could not keep a chuckle from escaping him. "Be honest, Frank, do you find me … unbearably annoying?"

His colleague took a sip from his cup of coffee before he raised the cup in the general direction of Dan. "All the time,"

Again, Dan rolled his eye at this response. "Seriously, Frank, be real."

Realization seemed to wash over his colleague and Frank let out a sigh. "Ah, I see what it is."

"What?"

"You got an earful from March, didn't 'cha?"

Almost instantly, Dan covered his face with his right hand. "That obvious?"

"Whenever there's a matter of outright criticism of one's character, always trust that it's March who's somehow involved in it." He tilted his head a little up, pondering. "But what happened?"

"She… She's up to something, but when I asked her about it, she became uncharacteristically upset. Angry, in a sense,"

"Strange, who would've thought that a machine could feel?"

"Seriously, Frank?"

"Look, Dan," Frank sounded …. Surprisingly genuine the way he spoke those two words, prompting Dan to look at him and take his words seriously now. Frank let out an exasperated sigh and soundlessly placed the coffee-cup down on top of the table they shared, staring straight into his eyes whilst placing his chin on top of his palm. "I'll give you a piece of advice, and it's up to you whether you want to heed it or not?"

Dan tilted his head slightly to the side. "What is it?"

"You gotta accept that you can't save them all, no matter how much you try," the other surgeon stated firmly, but considerately. It was almost strange to hear such genuine words come out of the mouth of someone who spent the majority of his vocabulary on puns and other inconsequential things. "Whatever it is dear ol' Evie's gotten herself into now, leave her be to deal with it herself. It's not your problem, and don't make it such either."

Dan widened his eyes a couple of inches, not believing what he had just heard. "What do you mean? I can't just–"

"_Yes_, you can," Frank quickly interrupted him, this time meeting his gaze with a rather sharp look which sent Dan into a state of paralysis. "If she wants to die, then let her die. If she wants to live, then she'll live on her own accord. Don't just presume that her hardships are for you to carry, and judging on her telling you off, I'm guessing she feels the same way."

While he wanted to protest against his colleague's blunt statement, Dan suddenly found himself empty of anything to say, like his words had been stolen from him by some unseen force within him.

He had always been empathetic towards others, regardless of who they were or what they looked like. It was the primary reason why he became a doctor; to help people. To see a child embrace their mother after a successful operation, or to deliver the news of someone's passing to their relatives; it was a bittersweet feeling, but he still contributed somehow.

However, that willingness to help others never ceased, even towards people who never asked for it. He had always assumed that everybody would want help, even if they denied it. That there would always be those who were unable to express their need for care, to be cared for.

Even Evelyn had once been more expressive about her needs, back at University. Whether she was hungry or just wanted a glass of water, she would say so if she was ever being asked about such. It was not until sometime later that he noticed that she had changed, become more solemn than she initially was.

Now, he was no longer so certain whether what he believed was true anymore.

Maybe Frank was right, and that this was a situation he had to lay off of. He just had to continue with treating Eddie and his other patients, and give Evelyn some space for the time being. Perhaps things would become better, and things would turn back to normal.

But as much as he wanted to believe it, something in Dan's gut told him that something was not right about any of this. He could not simply …. He could not ….

Without a word, he got up to his feet, but not before offering his curious colleague a warm smile. "Thanks for the talk, Frank, I needed it. Excuse me, I have to look at some IRM-scans."

"Right," Frank responded slowly, nodding. "That old journalist was here the other day, right? Eddie Brock? Quite an incident at the restaurant."

"That's the guy," Dan affirmed. "Poor guy's been sick, so I'll check the problem for him."

"Just watch out so he does not go and steal your girl," the other surgeon teased with a smirk. "You know how exes tend to be,"

Yet again, Dan only rolled his eyes and waved his hand dismissively. "Thanks, Frank, but I'm not concerned about that. I trust Annie,"

And without another word, he waved his colleague a brief good-bye and headed towards the IRM-labs, unaware of the fact that his guts were onto something and unaware of the current whereabouts of the oncologist whose well-being he so altruistically cared for.

Even if he felt his chest tug ever-so-slightly at the words she had thrown at him.

* * *

"Mr. Drake, Dr. Skirth,"

She announced her presence without putting much effort into it, and that was enough to summon the attention of both of the people whose names she had just mentioned. Evelyn, however heavy her eyes were, never shifted her attention away from the containment area around her, scanning everything within the perimeter; from the equipment that was scattered around to the way the CEO was practically towering over the ecologist from within the containment.

The place was empty of anyone else as far as she could tell, yet she did not doubt that there would be someone else listening. The LF did not lack in quantity what was considered necessary, and alibies and accomplices were not excluded from that rule. Despite the deafening quiet and the overall silent atmosphere that accommodated the space. Eyes and ears were found around every corner and in every nook (_not in a literal sense_).

But what caught her attention out of everything was the container that was present in the room, inhibiting the blue symbiote she had seen first-hand annihilate countless people in the blink of an eye. SYM-A02 was located behind the glass, moving unpredictably yet restricted within the space of its captivity.

If it was there, no longer inside a host, then it most plausibly meant that Mr. Markson had been deemed deceased after further bonding between the two organisms was proven to be a failure. Her hand unknowingly clenched to a fist as she processed what this meant, and she could not quite conclude the reason for this behavior.

After lingering on the blue organism for a couple of seconds, her eyes trailed back to the two individuals in front of her. Much to her (_relief? assurance?_), Dr. Skirth appeared to be uninjured and otherwise in a stable condition, albeit there were considerably signs of stress on her countenance which the oncologist did not allow to escape her notice. If her analysis was proven correct, then Dr. Skirth was in a state of (_fear?)_. Without verbal affirmation, however, Evelyn could not conclude that hypothesis for certain.

Meanwhile, the exact opposite could be said for the CEO, whose towering figure dressed in black could easily intimidate even the likes of Treece. His facial features were restricted, as were his movements, although they excelled in appearing composed. From the perspective of someone less intuitive than herself, he would have seemed like just another man with a tranquil approach in life.

But she knew better than to allow herself to be deceived by his demeanor.

Taking a step back from the ecologist, Drake lowered his shoulders with a sigh and shifted his attention to the approaching physician, evidently pleased by her presence. "Dr. March, I appreciate having you here on such short notice. I apologize for the inconvenience by request."

"An apology is highly unnecessary, sir," Evelyn assured him dismissively, narrowing her eyes as she eventually reached them both, arms crossed over her chest. "Though I am inquisitive about why my presence was requested."

"I will explain." Drake inclined his head towards her before it dipped to Dr. Skirth. "Dr. March, were you aware of the fact that it was Dora here who assisted the infiltrator inside the building last night?"

No one spoke for what seemed like hours. Evelyn remained calm despite all the thoughts that were entering her head. Her eyes flickered over to the ecologist, sharpening upon addressing the state of affirmation that was present in the ecologist's. Dr. Skirth, upon meeting her gaze, could only shift her focus to the floor, not saying a word even though her lips were visibly quivering.

_How did she allow herself to get caught?_

"What evidence do you possess of this?" she inquired.

"She admitted it," Drake spoke casually, masking any resentment he might have harbored towards any of them.

"She did?" Evelyn shifted her gaze back to the ecologist, voice evenly distributed between calm and composed without indicating that she had any prior knowledge of this incident. Doing so could most likely result in her disposal, so it would be most inconvenient if that was to occur. "How would that be possible if I was present with her?"

"I… I took advantage of you." Dr. Skirth barely managed to make her voice audible enough. "W-When you asked for my help to get inside the lab, I got the infiltrator inside the back seat before you entered. When we got to the labs, I snuck him in while you turned your back for a second."

The explanation was … almost ridiculously foolish. Evelyn could scarcely imagine that it had somehow managed to fool Drake, whose perception was supposedly sharper than anyone she knew of. If she was required to feign obliviousness in order for this to work, then she would have to do so without seeming too conspicuous in the process.

"Why did you do it?" Her voice came out as sharper than she had anticipated, but it served its purpose, for Dr. Skirth visibly flinched upon hearing it. Her lips continued to shiver.

"I – I'm s-sorry, wha–"

But before she was even allowed to finish, Evelyn stepped forward and quickly grasped around the ecologist's shirt, lifting her up by a few inches so that the woman was forced to stand on her toes for a few seconds. Evelyn was somewhat amazed by how well she could handle the other woman's weight even though she had never excelled in anything resembling physical prowess, but she did not question it in the spur of the moment.

"We were on the verge of achieving our objective," she stated firmly, her green eyes stared straight into the blue ones of her colleague, who appeared to be more than (_shocked? surprised? caught off-guard?_) by this change of events. Whether it was feigned or genuine, regardless, it was effective. "Your actions may have contributed to the death of mankind, so feel inclined to answer. What was the purpose of your actions?"

Dr. Skirth's consequences were left ambiguous and uncertain. Now that Drake was aware of her treason, then he would most certainly dispose of her in one way or the other unless she somehow managed to interfere. While Evelyn's own fate was still in the waiting, as the ecologist had not mentioned her involvement in this, that alone could not guarantee her safety.

_Why did Dr. Skirth not tell Drake of her involvement?_

Evelyn scanned Dr. Skirth's face, trying to deduce a plausible answer from her. Reasons that she could find appropriate. Why did the ecologist not attempt to place all the fault on her instead, possibly saving herself? She had a son, a place to return to once this was all over. Why give all that up for the sake of someone who was as expendable as herself? Why _sacrifice_ it all for _her_?

"_Why_?" Although she did not realize it at first, Evelyn could hardly hear her own voice as she pronounced those three letters, as her attention still remained with Dr. Skirth at the time. All that energy she spent trying to analyze a plausible explanation, she let the fact that the ecologist's facial expressions softened go unnoticed.

She suddenly felt a hand on top of her shoulder. "Dr. March, I understand your frustrations," Drake spoke softly. "But maybe Dora has something she wants to say. Please, let her go."

Evelyn glanced over her shoulder to meet his gaze, almost expecting him to wield some kind of weapon against her back unless she refused to cooperate. While it seemed at first like she had managed to convince him with her frivolous display of (_anger_?), she could not afford to simply let her guard down in front of him just yet.

However, she heeded his words and promptly let go of Dr. Skirth's shirt, lowering her back properly onto the floor almost soundlessly.

Dr. Skirth instantly took a step back from the two of them, readjusting her glasses on the bridge of her nose and crossing her arms over her chest. Her limbs were trembling, but Evelyn could not help but admire how calm she appeared to be. She had never understood that someone like she was capable of performing such a convincing state of equanimity.

"I was troubled by … what we've been doing," Dr. Skirth explained quietly, averting her gaze ever-so-slightly to the floor. Evelyn could tell that her pupils were occasionally darting towards the organism that was contained only several feet away from them, and likewise, she could not keep her own attention from subtly flickering towards it.

Its presence was … ambiguous. Was it there to serve as a reminder of what kind of punishment Drake was capable of delivering, or was it simply there as a means to keep an eye on his precious subject? Regardless, neither outcome was a preferable one, though the latter was the safest option for certain.

But all she could do was to simply await Drake's response, whether it was an aggressive one or otherwise. She heard him gravely sigh, an indication that he was in a less than a (_generous? docile_?) state of mind.

"I get it,"

The oncologist narrowed her eyes following this response, shifting her head to face the CEO where he stood, almost not certain that she had properly processed his words. They were so … composed, like he was elaborating on a mundane matter which did not circle around treason. It was hard to fathom, but she did not make her suspicions vigorous enough to express.

Drake's expressions changed into those which indicated (_understanding? comfort? solace?_), as though all earlier signs of the opposite had completely disintegrated in a matter of seconds.

She shifted her attention back to Dr. Skirth, who was also visibly taken aback by this. Her eyes met those of her colleague for a split second, almost as though she was requesting affirmation of whether this reaction was genuine or not.

The answer was already an obvious one. After all, people were easy to read.

Drake's lips tugged into a weak smile. "I get it," he repeated, raising his hand. "We've all been troubled. It's the nature of what we do. But … I need you to tell me who was here with you, and what you were going to do with the information you downloaded. I need that from you."

"Downloaded information?" Evelyn inquired with a raised eyebrow. On cue, Drake pulled something out of his pocket and held it up. A hard-drive.

"It was … in case evidence was needed," Dr. Skirth admitted hesitantly, still unable to look up. "I …"

But without looking away from the ecologist, Drake handed the drive over to Evelyn and she took it, giving it one last glance before she put it in her coat. Whatever use she would have for it in the future, it had yet to be seen. Perhaps it could serve as evidence, but for now, it meant that Drake still trusted her enough to grant her such a vast amount of information without batting an eye. However, to think that her colleague was caught by doing something so conspicuous was beyond her.

_Why did she have to get caught?_

"But I can't tell you who was with me," Dr. Skirth said and shook her head. "I … Can't do that."

"Once again, you allowed your emotions to get in the way of rationality, Dr. Skirth," Evelyn stated firmly and sharpened her look at the ecologist. "It would seem that you are not too different from your sister after all,"

"And Janine was right when she called you an inhuman individual," Dr. Skirth suddenly spat with mutual contempt, raising her head to meet that of her colleague. Her eyes bore no disdain as far as the oncologist could tell, but they successfully managed to produce a feigned version of it. "You truly are a monster,"

"_Enough_." Drake's orders, albeit a single word consisting of six letters, was all that they required on in order to keep their cold 'argument' from escalating further. He took a step forward, standing between both of them with his focus solely placed on the ecologist, to which she reluctantly took a step back.

"We can't fix things unless we begin with your friend," he tried his best to sound convincingly civil. "The person who was here, because they're going to die. They're in grave danger."

Dr. Skirth's facial features began to soften, as though she was perceiving his words as true.

"You know that, right? They're going to die unless we bring them back here, where you can help to keep them alive."

He took a step closer towards her, evidently making her uncomfortable with his proximity. "Hey, Dora, I promise that from here on we will do things differently. Will you _please_ trust me?"

Subtly, Dr. Skirth looked over the CEO's shoulder and met the oncologist's eyes, searching for an answer. Evelyn took a deep breath, noticing how the ecologist seemed as though she was actually considering taking Drake up on his words. Perhaps she was under the impression that he would spare her if they gave up Mr. Brock's name, that it would secure her safety?

But Evelyn slowly shook her head, assuming that the ecologist would heed her answer and not give in to the CEO's demand. They could not afford to give him what he was looking for, or they were most certainly finished. She could not plausibly trust that Drake would do something as trivial as to keep his 'promise'

But the ecologist let out a heavy sigh, lowering her shoulders before she opened her mouth to speak.

"_Eddie Brock_,"

For anatomical reasons she could not name, Evelyn could feel her heart skip a beat and her breath halt abruptly in her throat as she processed that name. The name of a person she had promised to find and ensure the safety of had just been exposed by the very person she gave that promise to. It was almost (_ironic_?).

Still, she did not utter a word and allowed her gaze to meet that of the floor. For reasons unexplained, she felt her fingers knot into a fist again beneath the fabric of her sleeve.

"Eddie Brock?" Drake questioned, to which Dr. Skirth hesitantly affirmed with a nod. This caused the CEO to go deep into thought, a mixture of (_disbelief_?) and (_realization_?) dawning over him.

He did not say a word. Neither of them did. It was the silence that was the most unnerving part of it all.

Then, Drake shifted around and turned to Evelyn, whose face was as void as it had always been. He dipped his head towards her and indicated for her to follow him out of the transparent door, which she obliged to after casting a quick look at Dr. Skirth.

The ecologist moved her lips, but no sound came out.

'_I'm sorry,'_

He stepped towards her and placed a firm hand on top of her shoulder, starring straight into her eyes, which she reciprocated to a lesser extent.

"Dr. March, I am promoting your position," he explained with a tug of his lips. "From now on, you are fully in charge of supervising the project's progression on our subjects and report them directly to me. Any method you deem as suitable is yours to see through, and the others will follow without objection."

He then reached for her hand, grasping it in his. The temperature was considerably low, as though he had been keeping it in the freezer for a considerable amount of time prior to touching her. An object was then placed in her grip, which Evelyn almost instantly pulled back to inspect.

It was an identification card, almost entirely identic to that of Dr. Skirth.

**LIFE FOUNDATION PERSONNEL PASS**

**DR. EVELYN MARCH**

**Attending Physician and Head Supervisor**

As she held the insignificant piece of plastic in her grip, words could not describe how mediocre the sensation was.

Despite it, she gave a firm nod his way. "The gesture is appreciated."

"Good, though we have to make the finishing touches later on with pictures and everything,"

"Understood,"

Drake then let go of her, turned his head around, and faced Dr. Skirth one last time. "Just know, Dora, that you were our best.

_Open it_,"

* * *

The blue sludge that was once one of her test-subjects was promptly released from its containment, descending down to the floor like a mass whilst moving unpredictably. It was the very same thing that had forced countless of people to die in front of her, dying of asphyxiation or having their organs tarnished and consumed from their insides.

Whatever that thing was, it was a murderous entity that showed no humanity and knew no boundaries. While those two traits did not linger too far from one another, that thing was most certainly not anything she thought resembled a human.

And yet it did.

The ecologist let out a shriek as she watched the thing gradually crawl towards her, shortening the distance between them bit by bit at an exhilarating rate. In a vast attempt to back away from the organism, Dora backed herself up against the wall behind her, desperately searching for a way out of there with her heart racing a mile per minute.

But there was no route to escape through.

She snapped her eyes up, only to see Drake haphazardly leave without casting as much as a last glance her way. His display of utter indifference at the prospect of her death – one of his closest subordinates and most trusted colleagues – sparked something within her. It was neither sadness nor shock. She could feel her knuckles turn white and her teeth gritting against each other as she watched him leave her. It was expected, but no less infuriating.

She _loathed_ him.

She had been so stupid to believe that he could change from what he had become; the monster she had seen him morph into over the course of time he had spent around those symbiotes, fantasizing about his utopia.

_Luke._

Dora's dart then proceeded to fall upon the oncologist, who remained standing where she stood, eyes wide with what she could only describe as … as ….

**Shock – disbelief – regret.**

Then, much to her surprise, Evelyn's eyes sharpened and she stepped towards the glass, raised her fists, and started to bang on it to the point where the vibrations echoed through the space she was enclosed in. The oncologist continued to throw her fist into the transparent wall until marks were left on the walls, and evident drops of blood started to form on her knuckles. She even tried to use her pass-card to gain entrance to the cell, but there was no access to be granted.

There was an uncharacteristic trait of determination over her face, the kind Dora had never expected to see from someone like her. No, from _her_ specifically. The physician with no heart was suddenly trying to break her out, despite the fact that the chances of her succeeding in it were slim to none. It was an act only an impulsive person would be able to fulfill, yet this was an act not performed by an impulsive person.

The irony was dreadful.

That's how the ecologist understood what she had to do, even if she was going to die at the hands of that organism. She was not finished; not yet.

The moment the blue symbiote was about to reach over to her feet, Dora did a leap of faith and quickly jumped over to the side, successfully dodging the attack just enough for her to manage to sprint over to the other side of the room, right in front of the wall separating her from the oncologist.

"_Evelyn, you have to_ –"

But the person on the other side shook her head almost at once, pointing at her right ear as to indicate that there was no way for her to hear the other woman's voice through the glass.

Without wasting a moment, Dora hurriedly breathed heavily onto the surface of the wall, which caused the transparency to become covered with dew thick enough to convey a message. Then, she drew her finger over it, mirrored so that the oncologist could see clearly.

_HELP EDDIE_

The oncologist's green eyes scanned over the message, then they returned back to her, almost becoming … sad. If someone as stone-hearted as the very same oncologist was able to feel sadness, then maybe the world was not such a hopeless place after all.

If there was even an ounce of understanding within the core of her, Dora knew what this meant. She would die, and that was a fate she was content with. But death was still a minute away, and she planned on spending those sixty seconds productively. If it meant saving the world her son would grow up in, then she would be content beyond comprehension.

Breathing onto the glass again, she wrote another message.

_PROMISE ME_

After reading this, Evelyn did not move on the other side. She remained frozen where she stood, but then she glanced back up at her and nodded a firm nod.

Dora smiled.

She wrote something else.

_I'M SORRY_

_TELL MY SON I –_

But her hand suddenly began to feel … numb. Cold. Unmoveable. It was as though the life in it had drained completely, leaving nothing behind but an empty husk. Her arm was not the only part of her body that felt like that, and it took her a couple of moments before what little remained of her thoughts managed to process the reason why.

Something entered her body, leaving behind the identical coldness throughout every fiber of her being. Dora wanted to write something else, but there was no strength left for her to exploit. Her breaths began to decline, as she felt something grasp around her lungs, forcing the oxygen out of her body. The pain was there, unbearably so. Her fingers clutched against the fabric of her shirt, her nails tearing through the fabric in an effort to get to the skin and claw the monster out.

But it could not compare to the fear she felt over the fate of her son.

Dora Skirth was standing there, seconds away from death with an alien parasite inside her, yet all she could think of was how sad Luke would become. Growing up in a world without his father was one thing, but now his mother as well.

He would be left all alone.

Tears descended from her eyes and down to her cheeks, and she could feel her weight crash down to the floor as the creature inside of her slowly began to tarnish her insides.

**I'm sorry**

To see him grow up was not an option anymore.

She could recall his first steps, his first words, the first time he corrected her on something, the number of times he had called her out for her addictive smoking habit.

**I'm sorry**

She had killed people, watched them get tortured before succumbing to the fate of death. This seemed like a fitting conclusion for her life, but she dared not believe he would experience anything remotely similar. The world would be his to live on as he pleased. He could become a doctor, a scientist, a professor, anything he wanted. She just wanted him to be happy.

**I'm sorry**

But this was her price to pay for her sins. The chance to watch him grow up was gone, and her life was on the edge, but that was her retribution. She had killed so many, this was appropriate.

A cloth suddenly formed itself in her throat, causing her to gag as the serpent-like creature blocked her breathing entirely. The world slowly succumbed to darkness, an empty abyss where nothing was certain.

**I'm sorry**

She could only pray that …. Her mistakes would be cleared up.

The world would remain.

Her son would live.

Drake would fail.

As long as that happened, she could suffer.

She could suffer for a thousand years.

_**I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY **_

_**LUKE I'M SO SORRY**_


	23. Chapter 23 - Déjà vu

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom**

**A/N: FINALLY! We've arrived to the chapter I've been looking most forward too, and hopefully, I managed to write it well.**

**Additional art will be posted on my DeviantArt account X-KuroShiro-X**

**Remember to read, review and enjoy!**

* * *

**Parasitic – 23: ****Déjà vu**

* * *

"_Open it,"_

Just as she was processing that order, her eyes lingering sharply over Drake's disturbingly composed demeanor, something shifting in her peripheral vision forced her attention back to the lab cell in front of her. Whether it was due to the sleep deprivation or her excessive consumption of caffeine, she was not certain, but Evelyn swore she could feel her heart skip a few beats upon acknowledging the scene that occurred in front of her.

SYM-A02 was released from Its containment and wasted no effort in descending from its earlier state of restricted movements. The way it squirmed around like a snake on the floor was far from what she would have considered bearable to look at, much less pleasant. For the past couple of weeks, she had observed It as it had devoured her patients from the inside-out, harvested their organs for its own consumptions, and then left them for dead.

And now, knowing that it was present and uncaged in the same room as Dr. Skirth was currently locked up inside, Evelyn did not spend a lot of energy on deducing what was about to happen. But needless to say, her reaction towards such knowledge left her physically strained in a way she was unable to comprehend. She felt stiff, her fingers were clutching the fabric of her sleeves from the inside, and her breathing forgot to follow its regular intervals.

With her intelligence, Evelyn could have easily produced a list of physical afflictions that would have subsequently caused such reactions. However, none of those applied for her, because deep in her subconsciousness, she already had a suspicion of what it was. A designation for that, however, was not so easily accessible.

"Sir, are you certain that discarding is the most practical decision to make?" Keeping her voice even was not so simple as it would have been under ordinary circumstances, though these were very similar to the ones she had been surrounded by for the last couple of weeks. She had seen dozens of people get killed in front of her and she had been able to make the reports and speak on civil terms just like she would have at the General Hospital without change.

But now things seemed different, as though her voice was as strained as the rest of her body was. As much as she tried to deny the alterations, she could evidently not keep them out of the CEO's attention, as he tilted his head towards her ever-so-slightly. His eyes bore into hers despite the five feet standing between them, and Evelyn tried as well as she could to reciprocate his sense of calmness. For a moment, he said absolutely nothing. His lips didn't move, nor did his pupils avert their gaze.

It was quiet around them, as nothing could be heard from the other side of the glass in that restricted area the ecologist was currently trapped within. What she had once considered a privilege, the oncologist now found it disturbing to endure. For a moment, she felt tempted to believe that – as impossible as it would have been – time had stopped completely. However, upon acknowledging the heaving of her own chest, as well the sight of Drake blinking on occasion, she knew it was not the case.

Finally, he broke the silence by speaking again after what felt like hours of him doing the opposite. "She betrayed our cause," he stated haphazardly, barely moving at all. His demeanor reminded Evelyn of the functions of a machine; restrained, stiff, and monotonous. The same man who once managed to sway all of San Francisco with his charisma and confidence had now been rendered to little more than a cheap version of a human being.

And standing in his presence felt …. Uncomfortable.

Whilst avoiding to turn to her left to observe Dr. Skirth current crisis, Evelyn tried to reason against her execution. "Dr. Skirth's intelligence is exceptional. It would be a waste to discard it entirely," she spoke without raising her voice, managing to replicate the very same manners Drake himself was exhibiting. "I would recommend keeping her under constant surveillance in case she–"

"_She's expendable,"_

Her words came to a halt, as did her thoughts. For a brief moment, she could have mistaken his statement for the words produced by something non-human, but she was already aware of the fact that doing so would make her little more than a fool. She already knew first-hand from experience that even the most human-looking people could have less than humane intentions planned ahead, and this merely proved it.

Before she could organize a range of words to exploit against his decision, Drake shifted his attention back to the transparent wall, looking disinterestedly at the sight of one of his best subordinates as she struggled to keep herself alive within the confinement with the organism. His eyes held no emotion that the oncologist could detect, no sentiment whatsoever for the woman on the other side.

Evelyn narrowed her eyes at him as she recognized that look _too well_.

It was the same look he had had on him whenever he had watched the volunteers cease to survive the experiments. A sense of disappointment, she assumed, but this was different. He was well aware of the fact that Dr. Skirth would most likely fail to survive the bonding process with the symbiote. This was not up to chance. Surviving would have made her short existence a painful one. Either instant death or lasting pain was the plausible outcome of this.

Either way, it would have been a punishment.

And Drake knew of it.

She had seen such disregard for life before, long ago, during a time she cherished as much as wished to forget about. A time where she would not have hesitated to strike the CEO in the face for his inhumane decisions, but a time where she was as equally foolish and as she was reckless. She had been a child, ignorant and oblivious towards the cruelties of mankind and it was not until she left that place that she truly knew of the existence of "evil".

And if "evil" was an individual, then she had already seen his face. And at that moment, Drake's face reminded her too much of him.

"Dora is a widow," Drake explained without turning away from the glass. "She has a son, and Janine Skirth is mostly uninvolved in her life, so no one else will miss her. Her death will be ruled as an accident caused in the lab by her miscalculations. As far as anyone is concerned, Dora Skirth never even existed."

"**It's not going to be missed just 'cause it's dead. Nothing more than a sack of meat the crows will eat."**

Those words rang in her head like distant echoes within a hollow tunnel. As much as she wanted to be rid of them, Evelyn saw the similarities too clearly. She could feel her teeth borrow themselves into the insides of her mouth, drawing blood in the process. Though the painful sensation escaped her notice, the tug inside her chest that arose made up for that. Whatever respect she once harbored towards the man she had once considered to be an exceptional genius was scarce ever since she first saw his willingness to commit genocide, but at that moment, it vanished entirely.

Though she did best to refrain from revealing anything, it appeared that her attempts were in vain, as Drake glanced at her through his peripheral vision and sighed like a parent disappointed at their child for defying their wishes. He lowered his shoulders and turned to her completely, taking a step towards her with caution.

"I did not wish for it to end this way," he assured her softly. "Dora was one of our best, but she gave up on us. She would have tried to prevent us from reaching our goal, take away the only chance humanity has at surviving on this dying world. I could not give her that chance to put us to ruin, Evelyn. Please."

As the distance between them shortened until there were only a few inches separating them, Evelyn refrained from stiffening as she felt him place a hand on top of her shoulder, noticing how cold it was to the touch even through the fabric of her coat and shirt. Her green eyes met his dark ones in a moment of mutual contemplation.

"Please," he repeated. "Do not think ill of me,"

And with that, he let go of her shoulder and walked away, leaving her all alone inside the very same room where one of his own subordinates was on the verge of being killed. His departure did not immediately result in a reaction from her, but Evelyn knew that if she wished to avoid being prosecuted for evidence of involvement with Dr. Skirth, then rash actions were not something she could afford. So, as long as she heard Drake's footsteps ring in the distance from the corridors outside, she remained standing in the same spot without moving, barely blinking, and never uttering a sound.

After a few moments and the sounds had vanished, the first thing she did was to evaluate her options as she glanced up at the glass wall, blinking in surprise at seeing Dr. Skirth still standing there. The ecologist was visibly distressed about her ordeal, but she was still alive and trying her best to get away from the symbiote that was targeting her.

Even when her life was at peril, even when the chances of her surviving the bonding was slim to nonexistent, she was still trying to survive, still trying to escape. Evelyn could practically feel her eyes widening as that information was processed.

When they first met, all the oncologist saw was a subservient woman who did nothing to remind her of the bold professor she had spent many years under the tutorship of. If anything, Dora Skirth was as an unbearably weak woman.

However, in that moment, Evelyn saw something else than she had seen the weeks before. She saw someone with the will to survive; someone with sweat pouring down their forehead and a fierce determination to make it past what supposed "fate" had in store for them.

Someone who wanted to live, even when they knew all odds were against them.

Whether it was foolishness that drove her forth or something else, Evelyn did not spend any time trying to figure it out before she took a firm pair of steps towards the glass, clenched her fists together into knots and hit the bullet-proof glass with all the strength she could put into her hands.

As soon as she landed the first throws, Evelyn could feel the sharp pain as it cut through to her nerves. Her knuckles ached the most, as she could feel the agony vibrate through the rest of her appendages. Instead of taking its thickness and overall invincibility into account, she glared at the wall and continued with her futile attempts at breaking through to the surface.

Her physical capability was hardly something she wasted energy on boasting about to her colleagues, much less mentioning at all, and yet there she was; trying to break through bullet-proof material with the same nonexistent prowess.

There was a voice in the back of her head that tried to reason with her, explaining that punching it was an imbecile's resolution and that the wall could be everything from one- to three-and-a-half inches thick. If it could withstand bullets and the strength of an alien parasite, then it would most certainly be able to withstand the feeble hits of a physically incapable human being such as herself.

But even though she heard it, Evelyn would not give up. This feeling was … not unfamiliar to her. To act so recklessly in the face of the adversary even when it was obvious that she was on the losing side. If anything, she was just wasting time and energy on something akin to a lost cause.

So why did she continue when there was nothing that could be done?

* * *

"_The next treatment will work," _

"_It won't,"_

_His eyes were tired after many nights of staying awake with little to no sleep. Had she not known any better, she would have assumed that he was decades older than he truly was, lying there on top of that bed with visible wrinkles on his face and bags under his eyes that not even cheap make-up could have replicated._

_Only a few months earlier, he looked as though he was the same young man she had known since they were children. The same one she had grown up with. Healthy, happy, engaged, and alive. Now … there was almost nothing left of him that she could recognize from that time. Most of his hair had abandoned his scalp, leaving only a few traits of them behind for her to count. There was but a remnant of weight left for his bones to hold onto, so little that the hospital gown could barely fit him, and that let a lot of skin come into view; including a scar that was still visible on his shoulder since he got it all those years ago from that damned bastard who tried to stab him._

_She shook her head at his response, glaring down at him from where she stood next to the bed. "It will. You cannot give up yet." Whether she was trying to convince him or herself, she was not entirely certain. Still, she held onto the hope – no, the _fact_ – that he would make it. "There are still a lot of options we could try. We just have to–"_

_But before she could finish speaking, he quickly sat up in the bed. "Evelyn, that's enough!" _

_His voice was louder than it had ever been for the last couple of months, and his proclamation successfully managed to render her quiet again. Upon seeing her reaction to his outburst, his eyes turned solemn and he laid himself back down again, sighing as he readjusted his position to a comfortable one. "Please," he whispered and placed a shaking hand over his head. "I'm just so … tired."_

_Her hands gripped tighter around the notepad in her grasp. "I don't … I don't understand,"_

"_We both know I'm not going to make it, Evie." His eyes trailed over to hers, the same green ones as her own. His lips curled into a shadow of a smile, one that she had not seen for many weeks. He lowered his hand from his head and slowly reached over to grab one of her own hands. His cold and thin fingers made her almost stiffen, but she successfully managed to avoid doing so as she gently reciprocated the gesture._

_Yet the request he proceeded to announce made her threaten to leave at once, just as her mother and father had done._

"_You have to let me go,"_

_Her chest felt like it grew ten pounds heavier, and her eyes widened. She searched his face for any sign – any indication at all – that this was just like one of the many pranks and jokes he had pulled on her throughout their lives. It had never been beneath her to joke about dark things either, so she was certain, very certain, that he was just pulling her leg._

_But his face was … void of any signs. There was no tug on his lips to a smirk, no eyes rolling, no chuckle to hear. He was … He was … genuine._

_Knowing this, she immediately shook her head again. "**That** is not an option, David."_

"_Death is the only option for me, sis,"_

"_No,"_

"_Evie –"_

"_I WON'T LET YOU DIE!" _

_She sharply pulled her hand away, glowering at him for longer than she had in her life. That idiot wanted to die when there was still a chance that he could make it!_

_She could feel tears threaten to descend from the corners of her eyes as she dropped to her knees, letting the notepad with the negative results slide from her hands and onto the floor. Already by then, her cheeks were stained from the liquid her eyes had produced, and some of the drops fell to the floor._

_Letting him die was not something she wanted to do. She wanted him to live – that's everything she wanted for him. To live, get married to Eleanor as he intended, have children, grow old, and die peacefully surrounded by flowers. Not like this; surrounded by wires and fluid bags, all alone in an empty room not even their mother could enter without bursting into tears. _

_She looked back up at him again, desperate to search for a sign which said that he was merely joking. However, she found that nothing had changed._

"_Please …" She reached up and grasped his hands on top of the mattress, lying down her head on top of them with her knees still planted to the floor. There was scarcely any warmth to detect in his hands; no life at all. "Don't leave me,"_

_He laid one of his hands on top of her head, patting her affectionately as he used to when they were children. "You can't save them all, Evie. That's just life,"_

"_Then I don't want to live,"_

"_Don't say that, please," he whispered softly. "You need to live. Mom and dad, they still need you,"_

"_But I can … still save you,"_

_She could hear him shake his head._

"_We both know you can't, but you can still save someone else."_

_She wanted to snap something back at him, oppose his words, but there was nothing left for her to say. What could she say? She already … she already knew._

"_Evie … Promise me you will let me go, even if it hurts."_

_Her whole body froze where it was, and she shook her head on top of the tear-stained spot on the mattress. _

"_Please," he begged her softly, lifting her head up to look at her one last time. Despite his lack of strength and overall exhaustion, he still smiled at her the same way he used to when they were children. "Just know that, no matter what happens, I love you."_

* * *

Blood was smeared across the transparent surface of the wall the more times she continued to struggle against the strength of its material. Evelyn knew that the skin of her hand was practically decorated with the crimson liquid. Her efforts began to falter as she felt whatever strength remained in her body get vanquished and reshaped into exhaustion. Sweat poured down her skin and she threw her last hit against the wall, but like the countless ones before, it left nothing but another red mark behind on top of it.

Evelyn breathed for air as she took a step back, her chest heaving up and down to their uttermost extent. All she had left on the wall were just marks from her skin and blood, not a single scratch or crack was to see anywhere. If there was no other way for her to open, then …

Her eyes flickered to the side. A card-scan was there, as though it had been conveniently placed there for her to use minutes ago, and only for her to have wasted those minutes on trying to break through the glass. She exhaled through her nose, acknowledging how idiotic it had been for her not to try that option first, and proceeded to pull out her recently-received card and scan it across the screen.

For just a moment, a hint of hope was present as the screen processed the information. However, just as soon as it arrived, the hope departed as the screen flashed red and the words ACCESS DENIED met her eyes.

She was on the verge of throwing the card straight at the machine, but instead, she clenched it tightly in her grip to the point where she broke the tip of it.

"Damn it,"

_BANG!_

She snapped her head to the glass and, in a moment of shock, was unable to properly address the image in front of her. It was not until a second or two had passed that the oncologist was able to regain her senses and meet the eyes of Dr. Skirth, who was still alive and currently banging on the wall to gain her attention.

But other than the sounds produced by the impact her fists had with the bullet-proof glass, the ecologist failed to produce any noise. Her lips were moving, saying something on the other side which Evelyn could not make out from her side.

In the spur of the moment, she gestured to her ear and shook her head.

Dr. Skirth instantly caught onto what she was indicating and, wasting no moment, breathed onto the glass in order to produce a thick fog which she used to write over. The letters were large and mirrored, but Evelyn still managed to make out the message. Her initial thoughts of what it was supposed to spell out were "Help me" or "Call 911", but shortly afterward, it proved to be something else entirely than what she had anticipated.

_HELP EDDIE_

Evelyn had to read over the letters carefully to make sure that she had not read wrong, or that the message itself was simply a product of her sleep-deprived state and it was disorienting the words. However, it proved to be none of the sorts. They were genuine, and more importantly, they were hurried, which meant that Dr. Skirth truly prioritized them over the state of her own being.

Even in peril, the ecologist's primary concern laid with the ex-journalist who had successfully escaped with one of the symbiotes. Evelyn could not understand what was so important about Mr. Brock that required more attentiveness than her current situation. Now that he had already been exposed as the intruder, there was a slim chance that he would remain out of the LF's radar for long.

Thinking about it, her fingers brushed inside her pocket and pulled out the note where he had written his address. The numbers and letters were still clear to read, although his handwriting was less than ideal in terms of elegance.

The sound of another word being written snapped her attention back to Dr. Skirth.

_PROMISE ME_

She froze as she processed the information. Another promise? Another ridiculous range of words that were supposed to guarantee that an action would be committed. Promises were so easily broken. They were just _stupid_ words. They had no meaning in a world like this one, where words meant nothing and actions meant everything. How could she believe that she would be able to fulfill them?

If she wanted to, Evelyn could simply leave the city and never return to San Francisco again. She could lead another life, start anew in another city as far away from the Life Foundation as she wished to. It would be easy, almost unbearably so. Change her identity, get away from the LF's radar, to simply leave. A promise meant nothing to her, nothing at all. The one she had previously given to Dr. Skirth was trivial, and she saw it through for the sake of keeping her docile.

But this?

"_Promises depends on trust. Someone trusts you to keep it, and if you value that trust, you keep your word."_

Evelyn bit the inside of her lip, feeling a range of things she could not describe. She clutched the note in her hand, reading over the address one more time, before she made her final decision and nodded. Even if she could not save Dr. Skirth, then she could try and save Mr. Brock instead. That was a contribution on her part; if she succeeded, then there was still a chance for them to take down the Foundation.

Perhaps … she could find him, get him someplace safe before the Foundation located him? If she was to take his evident stubbornness into consideration during their encounter back at the hospital, then he had not heeded her advice.

Dr. Skirth's face instantly lit up, something Evelyn could not understand. How could she … be happy when her life was still about to end? All because of a simple promise? Was that truly all that was required in order to reassure her? Evelyn wanted to open her mouth and ask her what was striking her as so reassuring that it was enough to put away the fear of Death, yet no question managed to escape her before Dr. Skirth started to write something else, completely oblivious to the fact that the blue symbiote behind her was closing in on her position.

_I'M SORRY_

_TELL MY SON I_

But the message was never finished because just as it was supposed to be, Dr. Skirth's finger slowly trailed down the fog-marked spot on the glass. Her eyes became distant as though they were focused on something else other than the recipient of the message, and her body abruptly descended to the floor like a thousand pound was put on top of her shoulders.

Evelyn, already knowing what was about to happen, instantly started to pound on the wall again, striking it over and over all on repeat without pause. In doing so, she wished to avert her eyes away from the scene that took place in front of her, but she found herself unable to do so. The grotesque image of Dr. Skirth's slow descent to the permanent state of death left out no details than what had been shown the numerous other times it had happened at the hand of the parasite.

The oncologist hits ceased and she took a step back, eyes wide and her bloody hands unknowingly covering her mouth in a state of shock. She had seen it happen over a dozen times over in the last couple of weeks. Everything from the eyes bleeding blackened liquid to the veins growing prominent from beneath the skin. Dr. Skirth was no exception to that rule, but for some reason, Evelyn's stomach churned to the point where she grew nauseous.

The body started to twist and contort in non-human angles, replicating the breakage of bones to the failure of the internal system. Dr. Skirth's bodily fluids began to erupt from every hole in her body; a mixture of blackened tears, snot, saliva, blood, and even urine stained the white fabric of her clothes.

Afterward, Evelyn averted her eyes away and could not bear to return her attention to the glass, as much as she wanted to. With the sleeve of her coat held up against her mouth, Evelyn got to her feet and tried to keep her breathing under control. From her peripheral sight, she saw that the figure on the other side was no longer moving. No longer squirming like a fish out of water.

No longer alive.

Dora Skirth was … Dead.

"I wasn't aware that a machine could feel things, doc,"

* * *

The clock had already struck twelve past ten, yet his mom was still not home. Luke glanced exasperatedly over his wristwatch in an attempt to see whether or not he had read the numbers right. But just like he had been the other times, he was right.

He sighed and leaned back onto the swing, finding it annoying how his mom always returned home later than she was supposed to. After countless lectures from him on how important it was for her not to overwork herself, she still went ahead and did it anyway regardless of what kind of physical state she was in. If she was sleep-deprived? She worked. If she caught a cold? She worked. If she was just exhausted or overall unable to work? Guess what – SHE STILL WORKED!

He had been outside the apartment complex they lived in for some time now, hoping to entertain himself by playing on the swings by the nearby playground across the road instead of watching television inside. Though he knew the dangers of being out too late alone, even at his age, Luke always took precautions before leaving his apartment to do something himself. The pocket-knife in his pants usually made up for any other safety measures his mother instructed him to follow which he elected to ignore.

Besides, he could easily spot the parking lot from where he sat on the swings, which served as another contributing factor as to why he preferred to stay outside if his mom was going to be late. Once he saw her get home, he could reprimand her at once instead of waiting for her to get into the apartment to do so.

And he didn't mind the solitude either. Being alone was more comforting than being surrounded by those idiots back at school who would always tease him for not having his dad around.

Yet he evidently did not remain alone for long there on the swings before a voice spoke up from behind him.

"Hi, Luke!"

He almost jumped from his seat to make a run for the apartments when a small figure sat down on the other swing beside him. Much to the boy's relief, he easily recognized the brown-haired girl with the pink tie in her hair who had so elegantly decided to graze him with her presence.

"Hi, Lily," he greeted her. "What are you doing out here? Don't you know it's dangerous to be out alone at this hour?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Hey! You're out here alone, too!"

"I'm not helpless like you," he countered her with a smirk.

"Me neither! I know where to kick a guy where it hurts." She smiled confidently upon proclaiming this, which struck the boy as a little unsettling.

"Then remind me not to get on your bad side," he commented sheepishly and scratched the back of his head. "But seriously, what are you doing here?"

Upon saying this, he noticed how her brown eyes turned sad. "My dad's not home yet. He's been gone quite a lot recently."

"Sorry to hear that," he empathized and kicked his feet to the ground in an attempt to slow down the speed. "Why is he gone?"

"He's been looking for mommy a lot,"

Luke blinked. "Your mom?"

She nodded. "A while ago, I got a letter from this kind lady that was written by my mom. When I showed it to daddy, he made a call to someone and hasn't been home often since. He says that there has been a lot of people going missing lately, and mommy's one of them,"

That was true. Although he had not been told much from her, Luke often heard rumors from his classmates that Lily's mom was a drug-addict who was constantly running away from rehabilitation centers despite the countless times Lily's father had sent her to one. And now there was the situation with people going missing recently. Mostly homeless people, but still people, and the police were looking for them.

He certainly hoped his own mom wasn't one of them.

After thinking of this for a moment, he turned his attention to the sky and noticed how the stars seemed to be perfectly aligned on this particular evening. He could spot Orion, the Cassiopeia-constellation, Canis Major and Canis Major, practically every constellation he knew of except for a few. It reminded him of how much he wanted to become an astronaut – how much he wanted to go look for things that were out there. Just like his mom wanted to when she was a kid.

He then jumped down from the swing and turned to his companion. "Come on. It isn't safe to be out now, especially with all these people going missing." He took her hand into his. "I'll walk you home, alright?"

Lily smiled as his gesture and took his hand. "Thanks, Luke,"

"And don't worry," he assured her as they began to walk towards her apartment complex, both children oblivious towards the circumstances. "My mom will be back soon, and so will yours too. Just wait a bit longer."

* * *

Roland Treece was standing by the entrance to the labs, both hands tucked behind his back as he began to approach her. For each step he took towards her, Evelyn took one back in retreat, but it was not much considering how the wall was practically behind her by a few inches at most. In contrast to his earlier demeanor, the smirk she was too familiar with had reappeared on his lips. There was no sign of his humbleness as before.

Indifferently, he shifted his attention to the corpse behind her. "It seems that dear Dora had it coming for her in the end," he commented before he returned his attention back to the woman standing in front of her. "And I had absolutely no idea that you were _that attached_ to her. I mean –" He let out a hollow shape of laughter, removing a nonexistent tear from his eye once he was finished. "You've seen this crap for long and suddenly now are you feeling all this sentimental bullcrap?"

"You are mistaken, Treece," Evelyn responded coldly, narrowing her eyes upon meeting his gaze. "Dr. Dora Skirth was a liability; her efforts could have rendered the Life Foundation's objective unreachable,"

"_Her_ efforts?" His tone turned sharp and his features followed behind those manners. He took another couple of deliberate steps towards her until there was but a few feet separating them. "Drake is many things, but stupid is not one of them. He knew, and so does I,"

"I do not know what you are insinuati–"

Treece proceeded to violently slam his right arm against the glass right next to her head, causing the vibrations to echo through the rooms.

Evelyn remained completely still as the Head of Security's face was inches away from her, feeling his breath, which still reeked of tobacco, upon her skin. His eyes were gleaming down at her and the smirk of his was maintained. "I'm not an idiot, March," he explained huskily. "Your knuckles are covered in blood and so is that god-forsaken wall. How are you going to explain that to Drake if you insist on pretending like you didn't give a shit about the poor cunt?"

Like always, she remained mute and did not allow her facial features to reveal a single thing for his information, though her eyes never left his.

As much as she hated to admit it, Treece was correct about one thing. As a consequence of actions irrationally, she had left signs of her involvement, and that was not so easily avoidable now that he was aware of them.

"But Drake wants to keep you. That's why he hasn't already fed you to that thing. I'm, however, not so lenient. I should just kill you now for proving to have been affiliated with Skirth's shenanigans. However …"

Evelyn could suddenly feel the hand next to her slide down her head to her neck, fingers brushing again the bandages and further down until they landed on her waist.

"Maybe I'll make an exception?" Treece suggested and started to tug on the shirt inside her lab-coat. Soon enough, she felt his cold fingers slither under the fabric and to the bare skin of her abdomen. He let out a sigh and leaned heavily his weight onto hers, placing his head into the crook of her neck. "Maybe, if you use that mouth for something good like I told you to, I'd let you go without a fuss and Drake wouldn't need to know about what you've just done?"

She let those words sit with her. Would that be a practical decision to make? If she provided Treece with the sexual favors he evidently desired, then would she be allowed to leave and finish the work she and Dora had put into motion. It was something she took into consideration, yet at the same time, she already knew that it would not be the case.

People like Treece, once they got what they wished for, they would soon turn on their word. She would be inexplicably foolish to assume that the outcome of this encounter would be anything less than it already was. Not to mention that this sensation reminded her too much of something she recalled from the past, and something she did not wish would become a recurrence.

"Treece," she said calmly, then turned her head around to stare straight into his anticipating gaze. Thought her face held no emotions that could be detected from an external perspective, her words made up for that. "You are an unbearably pathetic man,"

There was silence where there once had been heavy breaths from his side, and his hand stopped trailing up on her. Treece finally leaned back and removed his body from hers, seemingly disinterested in his attempt at forcing himself upon her anymore. Even so, his face seemed no less smug now than before, as his smirk remained plastered onto his lips.

"I see," He scratched his chin in contemplation. "You know, Drake said he'd punish me if I as much as laid a finger on you. But seeing as we're already past that, I'll just get it over with,"

He pulled out the gun from his side and pulled the trigger. A loud _bang_ echoed through the emptiness to the point where Evelyn could feel the walls behind her shake uncontrollably.

A second later, she started to notice something wet on her shirt. Had her bloodied knuckles accidentally brushed against her clothes earlier?

Yet as she glanced down to address the situation, she suddenly found herself feeling … numb, heavy, but weightless at the same time. Her balance grew unsteady and her legs wobbled, and she struggled to make out any words, like something was creating a blockage down her throat.

"You have been a serious pain in the ass, March,"

She fell to her knees with an arm placed on top of her stomach, feeling a prominent pain grow there that outweighed the ones she felt before. Her chest began to shake for each breath she took and it seemed as though something wet was covering her shirt from the epigastric region of her abdomen.

Looking down at it, she discovered that both her shirt and her arm was wholly covered in _blood_. Much of it too.

"I'll say it later turned out that you had a change of heart, and wanted to get Dr. Skirth out of her situation. Unfortunately," Treece casually walked past the bleeding oncologist and tapped in the code to the doors. "She was killed by the symbiote as well, ,"

Then crouched down in front of her. "And nobody is going to miss her at all."

Suddenly, his eyes narrowed at something she held in the arm over her bleeding stomach, which he quickly snatched. "What's this now?"

Her eyes widened and she tried to reach back for it, grabbing exhaustedly for the guard's arm with a hold that was barely strong enough to wrap around a twig, but Treece easily shook her off him.

"An address?" He observed. "This your friend's place, doc?"

"T-That's …" She could barely pronounce a whisper before she started to cough, resulting in drops of blood splattering over the floor and a few landed on Treece's clothes. Still, he ignored this and read over the note one last time.

"What do you know? I guess it pays to be a specialist,"

He turned his head back to her, smirking straight into her helpless yet loathsome face that was glaring straight back at him. "Thank you for all your help, doc, but do us all a favor and die already."

And with that, he pushed her into the cell and shut the doors.


	24. Chapter 24 - A True Killer

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom**

**A/N: First of all, I want to thank you all for almost 16.000 views! I would not have been able to reach such a high amount of readers if not for you guys, which surprises me since the Venom side of has only 170 stories so far. Anyway, I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, and I thank you again.**

**Also, I've been reading a lot of "Absolute Carnage" recently, and while there are some things that does not make total sense, I overall have found it quite entertaining and I'm debating whether or not it can become a part of an Arc much, much later. We'll see...**

**Additional art will be posted on my DeviantArt account: X-KuroShiro-X  
****Feel free to draw art yourself, and please let me know if you do :) I would be very happy to see how you guys envision everything in the story.****  
**

**As always: Read, review and enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 24: A True Killer**

* * *

Her heart pounded against her ribcage, resonating through her ears to the point where it deafened everything else. Just solid quiet, like walking through an empty street at night. The light above her grew fainter, every detail that surrounded her seemed to morph into nothingness. Her body laid limp against the cold floorboards beneath her, liquid pouring out of her stomach and onto the hard surface, her vision growing distant with each blink until her eyelids grew too heavy. Whenever she tried to take a breath, blood would gouge out of her mouth and restrict the movements of her chest.

As she laid there, she could not help but ponder.

Was this what it was like to 'die'? To lie on top of your own blood as you waited for the end to reach you? She had witnessed countless people die in hospital beds, either accepting their ends whole-heartedly or remaining in denial until they eventually succumbed to the abyss. Could her own experience compare to those of her patients? Where they any less endurable or more so? She had made it a rule not to compare her own experiences to those of others, but the curiosity grew on her as she laid there; alone, as she had always been.

Her arm, numb and useless as it was in her current state, gradually reached up to touch the warm liquid that was drenching her clothes from the abdomen. She could scarcely feel anything as her fingers delicately grazed the surface, and as soon as she withdrew them, there was no skin visible beneath the redness that coated her fingers.

_RED …._

She had always harbored contemptuous feelings towards that color, as childish as she had deemed it. It reminded her of so many things; of the blood that drained from her patients' faces when she had to break it to them that their condition was incurable, it reminded her of _him_, it reminded her of the fact that what was supposed to be natural for any woman to experience had remained foreign to her, and how only now that she was at the end of her road was the first time she ever got to experience something akin to that sensation.

How ironic.

How truly, unbearably, ironic.

With her dead, Skirth dead, and Mr. Brock currently on the verge of being captured by the LF, how were they supposed to finish what they had all started together? How were they supposed to ensure that Drake received the punishment he was due? That the Life Foundation received it? They had been the cause of countless deaths, relished in their victims' agony for the sake of their own progress. They deserved to be punished for what they had done, and so did she …

She knew she could not die when she had still work left to do. Maria Nordstrom, Jacob Markson, all of the other volunteers who had been exposed to the project and died … they were not finished. She had made a promise, a foolish one, but a promise nonetheless, to see it all through; to redo everything. Despite her contempt against such trivial concepts as words, this promise was one she had to see through. She had to.

Something cold suddenly circled around her limp figure, something unbearably cold that threatened to send her into a state of hypothermia had she not already been cold since the beginning. No words or observations were required in order to understand what it was, nor was she planning on spending any energy on doing so.

Evelyn took a sharp breath, feeling her lungs ache and blood gather in her mouth.

"I …. Cannot …"

Something dark suddenly lingered over her, undetailed and blurry, yet she already knew what it was and what it intended to do. A sense of vehement antagonism surged through her as she recalled all the lives it had taken, how it had consumed them all for the sake of its own survival. It was like an animal; only following its nature.

But like any animal, it could be forced to submission.

And no matter how idiotic it was, she was not going to die.

Gritting her teeth together as the dark shape above her closed in on her face, Evelyn opened her eyes entirely and glared straight at it, uttering five words through her blood-stained throat that were so sharp and distinctive that they surprised even herself.

"_You … will not…. Kill… Me."_

For a moment, the organism seemed to halt in its movements, seemingly freezing like a deer caught in headlights. Taking this as a sign of contemplation, Evelyn wanted to say something move, to do something that would otherwise make her ordeal lessen. However, before she could, she felt all of her energy abandon her body and whatever strength she once had within her disappeared in the blink of an eye, and the cold resurfaced.

This was it.

A black abyss.

Cold and isolated. Just like life.

She did not wish to die, not yet. There was still a chance to save everyone, to make sure that the Life Foundation received the retribution they were designated. Then, and only after then, could she herself meet the end that had been coming her way for some time now. Only then would it be appropriate to leave.

She had made a promise; a promise to the corpse she could scarcely see from her peripheral vision. Yet it was still a promise that meant something. But did a promise matter if both were deceased?

_Damn it…_

For years, she had been indifferent towards the prospect of her own death. While it was her job to make sure that others were spared the fate, hers was something else entirely. In all honesty, maybe she had been expecting it or wished for it. Maybe she had been nonchalant about it because it was something she knew at her core would be an appropriate ending for her, preferably sooner or later.

But this … was a dissatisfying conclusion.

However, it was ultimately out of her control.

Death was something unpredictable, something nobody had control over. Drake wanted to find a way to save people from it, as she had, to keep them all alive.

Yet there she was, afflicted with the same disease as she was trying to defuse.

How ironic indeed.

She closed her eyes.

* * *

Thomas tried again to muster the courage to dial the number down. He had all the digits typed into the phone and his thumb was lingering mere inches away from the 'call' button. Still, no matter how many times he had tried to convince himself that it was time to get it over with, despite how many times he had tried to do more than to just leave simple messages behind, he could never man up long enough to actually call her.

After minutes of continuing the cycle of deliberating with himself, he clutched the phone in his grip to the point where he felt it slightly crack and threw it onto the couch, rubbing his temples as another migraine was closing in on him from the mental exhaustion. He was a coward, a term he seldom dared used to describe himself or others, but he knew that it was what he was in his core. No matter how many times he was applauded by the other officers at the station for his supposed 'bravery', Thomas knew that it was all just for show.

Taking down a drug-dealer was way easier than calling his own daughter? Just how pathetic was that?

In the end, Thomas settled down with a glass of Cognac and thought to himself as he downed the liquor. While no productive thoughts were produced from the half-hour he spent on the couch, there was a sense of consolation in knowing that at least his wife was not there to see him in his in such a miserable state; drinking on a Wednesday-evening with his daughter still out of reach because of his own cowardice.

It was not until another half hour later that he, with a sheer amount of alcohol in his system, finally knew that it was time and reach over to grab his phone again. This time, he finally swallowed down his spinelessness and typed the number into the phone and – albeit reluctantly – pressed the call button as well.

He pushed the device to his ear and waited for the beeping sound to cease.

_One … two … three … four … five … six … _

"_The person you are trying to contact is currently unavailable. Please leave a message."_

Knowing that this most likely meant that she was intentionally avoiding his calls or simply preoccupied with work, Thomas knew that he would not be able to speak with her this evening.

"Hey, sweetie, it's dad here." He paused for a moment, planning his words carefully. "Look, I know it's late and all, but I just wanted to check on you and see if you were doing well. Remember to eat and sleep properly, and stay away from too much coffee. It's bad for your health. Anyway, your mom … She misses you very much, and so does I. So … Please call me once you're available. Love you."

He dropped the phone back on the couch, leaving it there without giving it a second thought. The empty glass on the table tempted him to a great extent, but he had made it a rule to stick with two glasses per night at most. Though it was tough at times, he had managed to make it through these past seven years well enough. Not perfectly, but good enough.

As he sat there, occasionally shifting his gaze to the half-full bottle of cognac that was resting on the table, he drew his hand over his head and found that his eyes had trailed over the table and to the drawer next to the window, where a picture was standing. A sense of nostalgic longing and melancholy washed over him like an ocean wave as his pupils flickered to the picture frame that had remained standing there for these past eleven years.

Thomas got up to his feet, slightly unsteady from the limited amount of alcohol he had drunk, and walked over to inspect the old photograph that had gathered dust over years of being neglected. As he held it to his face, the police officer felt tears build themselves up in the corner of his eyes as memories surged through his mind.

August 13th, 1996, taken while they still lived in Brooklyn before they moved away. It displayed Thomas himself in his younger days, days of less alcohol and less gray hair. His wife stood next to him with a smile on her face that he had almost forgotten she used to have. Standing in front of them were their two kids. A boy with a messy, dark hair who hardly seemed to know how to maintain it properly, and a younger girl who was practically clinging onto her brother's arm as though letting go of it would cause her to fall through the ground.

They were all laughing on that picture, and they were all equally happy as well. Thomas could recall everything; everything from the way a few of his wife's hair strands kept escaping the loose ponytail she would put her hair into, to the way the clouds were aligned in the sapphire-blue sky. It had been like Heaven, but that was a long time ago.

Now … there was almost nothing left of those happy days. His wife no longer smiled like he used to, his daughter had practically cut contact with them ever since _that_ day, and his son … His son …

He had seen them both grow up so wonderfully. He had tried to be everything that his own father had never been; kind, attentive, protective, loving. With a son who was passionate about everything he did and a daughter whose intellect could compare to that of Curie herself, Thomas had thought that maybe, just maybe, he had done something good, something right.

But now … it was all gone.

"Thomas, I'm back,"

The moment the sound of his wife's voice reached him, Thomas dried his tears away as quick as he could and put the picture down on top of the drawer again. He spun around and smiled as his beloved wife stepped through the door with the groceries in her arms.

"Oh, hey, let me help you,"

But the moment he tried to grab ahold of the bags, Rose held her arms out of reach and shook her head. "Oh no, you don't," she insisted firmly. "I can manage my own, thank you very …"

Just one quick look was all she needed before realization dawned over her, and a sad expression befell her. She dropped her bags to the floor and reached over to her husband's face, caressing him. "Thomas, what's the matter?"

He soon realized that trying to rid himself of any evidence of tears were futile, as a few of them ended up descending to his cheeks and into his hands. "I tried calling her," he croaked and leaned into his wife's embrace. "I thought we could invite her for his anniversary this year, but she … Rose, she did not even pick up,"

Instead of saying anything, she just held tightly onto her husband. It had been a long time since she last saw him in such despair, and while it broke her own heart knowing what the circumstances were, she could only embrace him as they shared their mutual grief. It was not until a few moments later that she herself began to sob, feeling guilt wash over her as she recalled the last moments she had spent with her daughter. Moments filled with so much hate and contempt on her own side that she could not comprehend that she had spoken them to her own daughter; her only living child.

"We'll try again tomorrow," Rose said assuringly. "And the day after that. We'll try to get our baby home."

* * *

_Darkness shrouded everything beneath an ebony shade, separating her from the privilege of sight. Her body, numb and cold to the bone, made no attempt to spare her any of it. Like maggots crawling beneath her flesh, tearing away chunks of it to its own satisfaction without taking her consent into consideration. The echoes of cicadas resonated through her ears, shutting off any sounds that had previously claimed the silence for its own._

_Even so, Evelyn found that she was … standing. Her legs, previously unmoving and anesthetized like rotting flesh, were now keeping her weight up as though nothing had been hindering their functions earlier. In fact, everything else about her felt normal, as there was no pain or otherwise uncomfortable feeling to detect._

_Although, as she looked down at her hands, she saw that they remained covered in her own blood to the elbows, the white fabric stained with crimson. She glanced down at her stomach, and while there was a hole in her shirt that remained drenched in blood, she felt nothing akin to the sensation of pain. Even as she poked it, all she could feel was the tender flesh and a hole piercing her abdomen. No aching whatsoever. She just felt …. soft._

_The darkness was absolute, surrounding her from every direction she turned to. Like standing in the midst of a dark cell with no entrance to light. There was not a single trait of light to be found, but for some reason, she was still perfectly capable of navigating her steps with sharp precision._

_She narrowed her eyes as she looked around, not knowing how to perceive this. Was this death? The dark abyss she had been anticipating? It almost seemed disappointing, knowing that you would end up in the same place regardless of your actions. She had not expected anything less of nothingness in general, but this seemed extravagant. Still, as far as she could tell from looking around into the nothingness, there was no king sitting on top of a throne of bones anywhere, nor were there any monsters with spirals in their foreheads to occupy the place. With that in mind, a spark of satisfaction ignited in her chest, as it meant that his assumptions had been wrong all along._

_Unless … This wasn't Death._

_Evelyn shifted her stare around again, and this time, spotted something else preoccupying the emptiness in front of her. Seeing it there … made her feel her chest tighten. Warmth flooded through her chest and radiated with what she could only describe as resentment. She recalled the faces of everyone it had killed, all of those people she had supervised and managed, only to see the life drain from them because of it. Dr. Dora Skirth…._

_Evelyn dug her nails into her palm as her hands knotted into fists. Watching that creature thrive made her blood boil and forced her to experience what she could only describe as hate. Pure, vehement loathing. She hated it beyond what words could describe, almost more than the Life Foundation itself, more than what letters could align, beyond human comprehension. Aversion was not a sensation she found foreign, but this one was in a different category to itself. More than anything, she loathed its existence because it had thrived on the lives of others._

_A genuinely parasitic being._

_And even so, she knew that if there was a chance for her to live, to finish it all, then she required it now for her own use. Willing to use it at the expense of countless others. Perhaps she could become a killing machine with an insatiable bloodlust upon its influence, or perhaps docile like Venom appeared to be with Mr. Brock? This time, it was all up to chance. It was all unpredictable. The two concepts she found the most troublesome in the world suddenly became her only options._

_And she had to roll the dice._

_"If you kill me now," she said coldly, keeping her movements in check throughout the ordeal. "You'll die as well. Do you understand?"_

_The symbiote suddenly jerked in its movements, as though having been met with a shocking revelation. Its bodily matters consistently moved like sludge on the blackened ground, yet she was under the impression that it understood the message she was conveying._

_While she knew from Venom that symbiotes could comprehend human speech, even speak it themselves through a host, this one remained mute. It sprouted no mouth, nor any facial features to make it easier to predict its intentions or thoughts if it had any at all._

_As it had yet not made a move to end her, she seized the opportunity. Although she would not guarantee her own life, she was not going to give up just yet. "Get us out of here," she spoke. "Get us out of here, and you will live. Kill me now, and you will only have enough fuel to feed off for so long before you are permanently disposed of. Are you willing to take that risk?"_

_It shifted a bit, but it did not attack her, nor did it commit itself to any hostile movements as it previously did. Instead, something else occurred, something that made her pupils shrink with shock and made her posture shift with uncertainty._

_As though the mass increased, it started to morph into something else, gaining a distinctive shape of its own. The substance began to distribute itself between features of a tall height, one that stood not too superior from her own. A pair of arms and legs grew from the matter and the rest of it was shaped to that resembling a vaguely thin human physique, albeit neither too thick nor too skeletal. There were no distinguishable traits as to whether it was mimicking a female or a male; rather, it was androgynous._

_Attributes similar to muscles and bones developed, and lastly, the head grew from the top of the shoulders. No hair or anything akin to it, just a head. No ears or mouth could be seen, nor any facial traits either. The figure did not say anything, nor did it produce anything resembling Venom, with sharp fangs and a prominent tongue. Where there was supposed to be a mouth, there was nothing._

_Two white eyes appeared though they lacked any pupils. There were just two white scleras surrounded by the blue. Shortly after its form had settled properly, tendril-like appendages began to morph on what Evelyn could only assume was the humanoid creature's back, shifting and waving like seaweed under a current._

_Seeing it standing there in front of her was …. Disturbing. But what disturbed her the most, however, was how something so inhuman could mimic the shape of a human. It was simply standing there, less than three feet away, with its white eyes aimed solely at her._

_Even as startled as she was at that moment upon seeing the alien parasite change, she did not waste time pondering on the fascinating subject before she returned to focus to the situation at hand. She reached her bloodied hand towards it, staring straight into its eyes without breaking the contact they had established. "You let me live, and we will both get out of here. Do whatever means necessary. Is that a beneficial agreement?"_

_The symbiote tilted its head to look down at her hand, then back at her, ever-so silent as before. For a moment, Evelyn wondered whether it could actually understand what she was saying, but just she was about to withdraw her arm, the symbiote's cold hand clasped around hers with such force that it felt like her knuckles were on the verge of dislocating._

_She snapped down at her hand, tempted to pull it out of the symbiote's grip. Its fingers were tightly wrapped around hers like letting go would be the end of it. Its fingers' biological matters then proceeded to crawl up her arm like water and spread to the rest of her body like a virus, covering every inch of her until there was nothing left. Chills went up and down her skin as the symbiote's matter claimed each and every part of her, and her heart throbbed painfully in her chest as she knew what this meant._

_But despite it all, Evelyn felt content._

_If this was the price to pay in order to make sure that the Life Foundation would fall, then she would gladly suffer._

_She would gladly suffer for a thousand years if it was necessary._

* * *

The alarms started going off throughout the hallways, red lights began to flash violently to the point where it kept everything else trapped beneath the crimson color. Axelson had just barely managed to grab his weapons before he was forced to sprint down the corridors, accompanied by his fellow guards and soldiers as they ran towards the source of the alarms.

The high frequency sounds evidently made all of the attendants concerned and frightened simultaneously, and their reactions would have amused him had he not been too preoccupied with running towards the threat. Years of military training and brutal defense mechanisms had left him with an underlying ability to shut off his empathy. Had he been any other civilian, he might have tried to comfort these people in their states of despair, but knowing what they were all capable under different circumstances, he decided that he had better things to waste his energy on than to sugarcoat the situation.

The doors to the labs swing open and everyone in the troop aimed their weapons at the first thing that caught their attention. Despite being further in the back of the marching group, Axelson was perfectly capable of seeing from his location what it was that had caused the initial commotion.

Shattered pieces of glass were scattered over the floor, most likely from the giant HOLE that had been created from the cell-doors in front of them. The opening appeared to have been caused by a source of major impact, like a cannon-ball or a high-frequency blast that was strong enough to pierce through solid matter, let alone bullet-proof glass.

He would have almost been surprised had it not been for the fact that he already knew where this was going to lead to. For whatever it was worth, he was not going to die without putting a lot of effort into trying to survive. Whatever happened to the rest of them, he could care less.

The current ordeal was that the thing that had created the massive gap in the wall was nowhere to be found. With this taken into consideration, the troop cautiously stepped inside like a cluster, covering each angle with a weapon aimed at all times. They constantly shifted around to try and get the faintest idea of where the thing was hiding, but to little to no avail.

There was a corpse on the other side of the cell where the thing had busted out of, one Axelson could vaguely recall as Dr. Skirth, but as far as anyone could tell, she was as dead as anything. While this ruled out the possibility of the bug having used her as a means to escape, since it could not linger in an oxygen-filled environment without a host for long, then that meant …

Axelson could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, a sense of glee spreading over him. He had long wanted to know what these aliens could do once they were out of shackles, and now he had the chance to finally see it for himself. Like a kid unwrapping his birthday present.

A true killer.

The commanding officer held his hand up. "Spread out!" And the rest followed his orders like children listening to their mother.

Every space in the room was covered, all the guards were as attentive as they could be, which, to Axelson, was not very much considering how the majority of them were inexperienced with what they were up against. All he did was to keep his eyes and his ears open and listen for anything strange, which always came in handy when you were looking for an unseen enemy.

"Hey, where the hell is Gomez?!"

All the guards snapped their heads around to search for the missing soldier, only to find his unused AK-47 lying where he was supposed to be standing. No sound was heard, nor did anyone see anything happen in the dark room. As the commanding officer bent down to inspect the weapons, he could come to no conclusion about where the soldier had gone. And neither could the rest.

The tension was reeking of them as they the realization that any of them could go next dawned on them, and Axelson did not know whether to laugh or to stay silent. It was a privilege to be able to keep one's thoughts to oneself, especially since he was never one for favoring people that found anyone expendable.

In a moment of negligence towards their attentiveness, the guards failed to notice something sharp coming their way from the darkness like a snake, successfully piercing through the air and towards them in the blink of an eye. Quick enough to notice due to his reflexes, Axelson dodged just in time for it to graze his arm through the fabric, leaving behind a prominent gap in his attire. Three other guards, however, not that fortunate. Even though the entire group were spread quite prominently throughout the room, they all shared the same mortifying view.

The three guards, two men, and one woman, stood aligned on the floor, a black vine-like object having pierced through all of their abdomens like one long spear, keeping them up-standing despite the blood that was pouring from their wounds and onto the spotless floor. They were all hanging there, limp and just bleeding out without being able to move or somehow save themselves from the inevitable. Their faces were paling and looking as equally disturbed as they were in shock. One of them, Richardo, opened his mouth to utter something, but only blood gushed out of the gap in a cough.

Not even a second later, the tendril snapped itself back faster than anyone could process, and the three guards fell to the ground, dead as decaying pieces of meat. This seemed to be the trigger to having the soldiers regain their composure, and as soon as they did, it did not take long before chaos erupted.

"_GET IT! IT'S ON THE CEILING!" _

The guards raised all of their weapons, firing aimlessly at the darkness without a clue about where to go for. While Axelson did the same thing, he did not waste a single bullet trying to locate the thing. He already knew that bullets would not do much damage, and he pitied the rest of them for their incompetence. Killing the thing would not be an option, and keeping it shackled for long was a mistake on their part.

A loud scream was heard as one of the guards suddenly found themselves thrown against the wall, knocking them unconscious with their face bleeding from the nose and mouth. Another guard was not even allowed the privilege of screaming before a dark figure snapped his neck, allowing the body to fall unceremoniously down on the ground, equally dead as the other. One of the remaining guards, in a moment of desperation, fired his weapon at the figure without hesitation.

Bullets went flying everywhere, forcing Axelson to dodge in order to avoid being hit. Meanwhile, the guard continued shouting profanities, firing at nothing until his weapon was completely emptied of ammo. It was not until he was out of bullets that he looked forward and saw that all he had it was the walls, countless bullet-holes left behind by his moment of impulsiveness.

The soldier was rendered soundless, mouth quivering and sweat pouring from his forehead. His finger was still clutched to the trigger, not letting go. He shifted his head around to try and spot the symbiote but was interrupted almost instantly as tendrils pierced him from behind and erupted from his chest the same way it had done to the three ones earlier.

He was lifted from the ground with his feet dangling over it, blood and saliva pouring from his mouth as he tried to save himself. The poor man gripped around the sharp edges of the tendrils, not taking into consideration how sharp they were, which caused deep gashes to form in his palms. Only a moment later, he stopped moving and his face went unmoving.

The figure behind him withdrew the tendrils and dropped the corpse to the floor without evident concern before it proceeded to move to the rest of them. One after the other, the creature effortlessly killed them all; pierced their bodies with its sharp appendages, snapped their necks, twisted them until their bones showed from beneath the skin. Blood smeared the floors until there was little visible from beneath it. It was a crime scene; a warzone. Only in Afghanistan had Axelson seen similar things.

The speed was the most prominent ability the symbiote possessed. The guards could scarcely make note of its presence before their necks snapped or their internal organs were pierced through. The symbiote did not waste time with making it any more difficult than it had to be, nor did it make sure that they all suffered before death was installed. Its only intent was to rid itself of any obstacles.

Only then did Axelson get a good look at what it was that was slaughtering everyone in the troop, and needless to say, he was as equally intrigued as he was alarmed. A true monster, one that he had now seen head-on for himself in its true form. He immediately knew that it was SYM-A02; the turquoise color was unmistakable, though it was considerably darker than the last time he had seen it. The breasts and curves it possessed indicated that the host it had taken was a female, perhaps one of the scientists that had tried to contain it, but he could not make out who it was from that observation alone. While it had no mouth where it was supposed to be, its white eyes made up for its inhumane appearance.

The moment of marvel was short-lived as the commanding officer let out a battle cry as he ran straight towards the symbiote from behind, a large machete in his right hand and his AK-47 in his left one. The symbiote, already seeing this upcoming assault, spent no effort in dodging the attack. With barely any movements, it blocked the blade with its hand and kept it still in in the air. The officer then proceeded to try to throw a punch into the side of its abdomen while it was caught off-guard. While he succeeded in doing so, the symbiote did not react in any way, showing neither agitation or pain. It was like hitting a brick wall with minimum impact.

Without a moment wasted, it simply grabbed the commanding officer's arm, swiftly shoved it from its abdomen, and penetrated him with the sharp tendrils that protruded from its back. Several went into his stomach and chest, some went into his arms and legs, and the last one went straight through his throat, sending blood pouring from every hole produced in his body. It did not take long for death to settle in, but it was evident that the officer was not willing to let go that easy. His determination was admirable but equally foolish, as he met the same fate as the rest.

Just as it had done with the rest, the symbiote dropped the body to the floor. Unnecessary gloating or signs of victory were not witnessed from Axelson's perspective. Rather, it simply turned around and started walking towards the exit, its tendrils still sprouting from its back like accommodating accessories. They waved as though the wind was forcing them to move, but there was no air inside to cause it.

Intimidating, certainly, but nonetheless intriguing to look at.

Axelson could not prevent himself from observing the creature with immense fascination, finding himself enthralled beyond what words could describe. He had seen it all in terms of bloodshed and violence, and while he loathed being the one to commit such himself, he felt no empathy for these people. While he was forced to kill to protect himself, these people did it out of curiosity, like poking a caged animal with a stick.

Instead of moving to try and fulfill his obligations of killing the thing, or containing it, he stood there in calmness, watching it as it calmly strolled over the blood-stained floors, leaving footprints behind in the red. Its white eyes did not even look over the damage it had done, which he could not tell was out of indifference of deliberate avoidance.

Just as he imagined that the creature was about to head out of there, it turned to him instead, much to his surprise. It was not until there was but a few feet standing between them that it stopped walking, during which time the soldier was already anticipating what was going to happen. He almost expected it to kill him just as easily at it had killed the rest of them. Death was not something he feared, not by miles. He had survived several near-death experiences already, so he had pretty much spent all of his luck at that point.

However, instead of attacking him, the symbiote merely looked at him, white eyes aimed straight at him. Regardless, he did not doubt that it could finish him either way, but it made no threatening movements against him. It just looked at him, quiet, with the wavering tendrils on its back ready to strike at any movements.

Afterward, it simply moved past him and disappeared through the exit, abandoning him in a room filled with corpses.

* * *

**"_Someone else is here,"_**

Eddie had just barely managed to down himself a glass of water before the sudden reappearance of that voice causes him to choke. It spills everywhere on the floor and he promptly drops the glass back on the counter, irritated. "Will you just shut up for one fucking –"

"_**Open the door, now!"**_

"Open the door –?"

The water in the glass began to shake as someone forcefully knocked on the other side of his door, sounding like they were threatening to kick it in. Eddie snapped his head around, already making a beeline towards it when the lock snaps and the door opens from the other side.

He barely managed to get a good look at the visitor before something clasped around his neck with a force so strong that it instantly shut off his access to oxygen. A cough built itself up in his throat as he struggled to breathe, and as he regains focus, he finds himself staring into a pair of inhumanely large white eyes.

* * *

**A/N: ****Second of all, I just have to say that some parts of this story might sound unrealistic. It primarily has to do with the fact that I have no idea about what goes on inside a host's head upon bonding with a symbiote. The comics and the movie only go so far into details about how they feel, both physically and mentally, so I had to develop something else. I hope it was not too ... idiotic.**

**Also, as far as the identity of the blue symbiote, I've long decided that it would be the symbiote Lasher from the comics. In the Lethal Protector comics, Lasher is one of the symbiote offsprings of Venom, and his most distinguishable traits are his green color, tendrils protruding from his back, and his lack of a mouth. Since the blue symbiote in the comics was Riot, I decided to make Lasher the blue one in the movie, but make him resemble more his original color by calling him turquoise-green instead. His name was also mentioned in the earlier chapters.**

**More info in the later chapters to come :)**


	25. Chapter 25 - Dangers Ahead

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom**

**A/N: So, since it's my birthday, I decided that I would try and update some stories on my account which I haven't written on for quite some time. While Parasitic is one I frequently update, I decided to just do it today as well. ****I'm officially an adult ... and I don't know how to handle it quite yet. I'm not ready to become a grown-up.**

**Additional art will be posted on my DeviantArt account: X-KuroShiro-X**

**Read, write and enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 25: Dangers Ahead**

* * *

Air clogged up in his lungs and he sputtered as he tried to speak, the grip around his neck keeping any oxygen from leaving and entering his lungs. He hung above ground with his toes just barely grazing the floorboards. A part of him wanted to believe that this was just another hallucination, albeit a considerably messed-up one to say the least. However, he knew that this was not the case, but ironically enough, he much preferred the voice over whatever the hell this was supposed to be.

The monster standing in front of him was grotesque in terms of appearance, to put it mildly. Between the Creature of the Black Lagoon or Frankenstein, it made them seem like angels in comparison, which said a lot since they were the fuel for his nightmares as a kid. He would often rush to his dad whenever he thought he saw either of them lurking in his closet, but the old man seldom provided any comfort and only sent him back to his room with no word of comfort.

_"Grow up, Eddie. Monsters are not real,"_ he would tell him.

But this was very, _very_ much real.

With whatever strength he could muster, Eddie clasped his hands around the thing's arm, trying to pry it off. "_L-Let me g-g-go,"_ he croaked as he felt his head become lighter due to the lack of air. Stars started to alight in the corners of his vision and saliva drooled from his lips. He felt sleepy, which wasn't a surprise since he had not gained any since the day before, but he internally doubted that this state of near-unconsciousness was caused by sleep-deprivation.

However, just as the dark threatened to settle completely, Eddie felt the temperature in his right arm rapidly turn hot as something else him sparked. His fingers gripped tighter around the hand that was holding up, and he swore he could see the muscles under his skin darken slightly. For whatever reason, his strength had rapidly increased, and the wrist his hand was clasped around seemed to falter upon this physical contact between them.

The head of his assailant jerked to his arm, and while they lacked any pupils, they were still as terrifying as they would have been had they had any.

Before he could say anything, the ex-journalist had all remaining air inside of him knocked out as he was unexpectedly dropped to the floor on his back. Eddie coughed several times, placing a hand over his chest as he relished the sensation of his lungs expanding inside of his ribcages. Still, he only got as much as a few seconds of liberty to do so before his eyes snapped back up at his assailant, to which he crawled back in retreat without even bothering to get up on his feet.

The figure – no, that _thing_ – was just standing there motionlessly in front of the door, shoulders slouched, and face aimed at the floor instead of at him this time. Eddie's instincts told him to make a run for it through the window while he still could, yet something urged him to remain. He couldn't tell whether it was out of curiosity or shock that he stayed on the floor, but only moments after he made his decision, the thing started to change.

The bluish hue that was once its external skin seemingly vanished into what looked like the fabric of white clothes: A lab coat, a shirt inside, black, long skirt and stockings. Ordinary human skin took its place. A pair of eyes, a nose, and a mouth materialized from what had once been a completely flat face with only white eyes to make up for what it lacked, and as soon as Eddie saw that, realization dawned on him as he recognized who it was almost instantly.

As the blueness disappeared entirely, Eddie finally managed to get back on his feet in an effort to come face to face with the woman he had least expected to see. However, as he looked into her eyes, searching for some kind of response that indicated that she was present, he found absolutely _nothing_. Her face was pale, considerably more so than it had before, and her green eyes were wide and in a state of shock.

While still processing everything himself, Eddie tried to stay as composed as possible. Although he wished he had not seen whatever the hell that thing was, there were more pressing matters at hand. "March," he tried calling her, taking a cautious step towards her without making the movement too abrupt. "What – What are you–"

Her pupils flashed to him for a brief second, her lips parted as though she was about to say something, but before Eddie could make anything out, March fell to the floor, gagging vehemently with her left hand covering her abdomen in writhing agony. Only then did he notice how her stomach was practically covered in blood that had stained her clothes thoroughly, and all sorts of thoughts went through his head. Some of the thoughts wanted him to run, others told him to try and get a grasp of what the fuck was going on, but one of them stood out from the rest of them by a mile.

"_**HELP HER, EDDIE!"**_

Never before had he heard that voice speak so loudly as it did just then, and while it frightened him to the extent where he wanted to drown it out with a bottle of beer, Eddie successfully managed to regain his equanimity long enough to behave rationally. He bent down to the floor, grabbed a towel having from the kitchen counter, and proceeded to hand it to her.

She quickly snatched it out of his grip before he could as much as say "Here.", and threw it over her mouth, coughing violently into the fabric like she was dying. For just a split second, her eyes met his, and he quickly noticed how bloodshot they both were from his perspective. The vessels were quite prominent from the corners.

"What the hell happened to you?" His answer barely came out more audible than a whisper. "What the hell was tha–"

"W-We have to leave, now," she interrupted him huskily, throwing the towel away and grasping at the kitchen counter to support her up to her feet. However, her knees were shaking, and she could barely keep herself up long enough to actually stand before she threatened to fall down again. She glared straight at him, though not out of hostility. If anything, it was wariness mixed with dread. "The Life Foundation know it was you. They're on their wa –"

Before she could manage to finish her sentence, the doctor's shoulders hunched and she let out a deafening gasp as another fit of coughs escaped her yet. She leaned over the counter, turning her face away from him as she covered her mouth with her hand.

Suddenly finding himself concerned with the well-being of a woman he could barely tolerate just a few hours earlier, Eddie hurriedly reached for the towel. Just as he was about to hand it to her, however, he glanced down at the cloth and noticed how there was blood present on it. A prominent amount. Like someone with tuberculosis had previously used it. His eyes grew in size as the sight settled with him and as he turned around, he was just in time to witness how a considerable amount red liquid was pouring onto her palm and dripping onto the counter.

"_**Give her the tater tots, quickly!"**_

There was never a moment in his long, fucked-up life where he ever considered listening to a voice from inside his head, much less abiding by its orders. His first instincts told him to retrieve the first-aid kit in his bedroom, but the voice persisted. _**"He's eating her from the inside, you idiot! Get her something to eat!"**_

"How the fuck are tater tots going to make her feel better?!" Eddie pressed urgently, stuck in a crossroad between what he was going to do. "I need to get her to the hospital!"

"_**She will be dead before then,"**_

Eddie found himself paralyzed, staring helplessly at the doctor as she continued to cough up blood on the counter with barely any room for breathing. His mind went into a state of panic, swirling up inside and causing him to almost break. To listen to the voice in your head for guidance was certainly guaranteed to send you to the insane asylum, but he thought about how many times it had actually helped that day. It had told him to watch out for that car he almost crashed into on the way from Mrs. Chen's shop, kept him from purchasing some rather questionable foods from the shelves, telling him that they "smelt bad", and then it had informed him of their unexpected visitor, who was currently vomiting blood in his kitchen.

But seriously, he couldn't just give the woman food when she was clearly–

"_**I'll do it myself,"**_

Before Eddie could protest, his hand jerked to the side and his legs started to move against his will, practically dragging him around the kitchen counter and towards the oven. He felt his teeth bite into the inside of his cheek as he continuously tried to free himself of this compulsory behavior his body was inhibiting. Although he successfully managed to move his limbs on his own accord on a few occasions, he was ultimately failing at regaining control of his actions.

"Whoa, whoa, hold on!" As his hand opened the oven door, the heat threatened to send him back away by a few feet. However, much to his surprise, his body complied with his wishes, almost as if fearful of the warmth the oven was emitting. He could only pray that whatever the hell was inside him was smart enough to use an oven mitten–

"_**I am not an imbecile,"**_

His mouth wired shut at that remark. At his own accord, Eddie put on the oven mitten and carefully pulled out the tater tots, placing them on the counter. They had been burnt quite nicely, and the stench reeked of them, but it was not all ashes. If anything, they were just edible enough not to churn your stomach 360 degrees, though he wouldn't know that from just eating raw chicken from the trash.

As he placed the pan on the counter, one of the tater tots disappeared in an instant. Then another, and then another, one after another until there was almost nothing left. One second, he was looking at a full plate food. In the next, there were practically nothing there but crumbs. Under ordinary circumstances, he would have laughed his ass off at the sight. Right now, he was anything but amused.

Eddie watched in utter astonishment as the doctor clawed at all of the food like she had been denied it for years, her nails scratching the surface of the pan and leaving marks there he doubted would disappear. Her dark hair, long and unkempt in a low ponytail that was barely keeping itself together, flailed as her body rapidly moved to reach each and every scrap of food she could get her hands on. The sound of her wolfing it all down was almost uncharacteristic coming from the same woman who seemed more like a machine than a human being to him. But seeing her like that, so broken and sick, he couldn't help but sympathize with her to an extent.

What the hell had happened to her?

As Eddie looked back down at the tray, he could scarcely locate any scraps left that could make up for the amount of one more tater tot. Everything was gone, and looking back at her, he found more around her mouth than anywhere else. It reminded him of how he looked like whenever he snuck into the kitchen cupboard in the middle of the night to get some cookies from the jar his father never let him take from. He was just a kid with a craving, and still, his father seldom hesitated to bring out the belt.

It seemed like whatever was happening to her was improving, as her breathing was evidently more stable, her face had regained some color, and she seemed calmer than she did when she first burst through the doors. If tater tots could cure internal bleedings, then he could become a billionaire for being the one to discover it.

March peaked up and she caught him staring at her, causing him to feel threatened. He took a step back, expecting some kind of remark, or for that thing to come back and hang him from the floor by the ears. But to his genuine surprise, he could detect none of it. Unlike before, her gaze was not particularly hostile this time, nor did she say anything. If anything, March looked completely drained, leaned over the blood-stained kitchen counter with her hand over her face.

"Are you … Are you alright?" she asked, barely in the volume of a whisper.

Eddie paused for a moment, contemplating his answer while keeping his distance from her. "I'm – I'm fine. Are – Are you …"

"I'm fine," she insisted, straightening her back as though nothing had happened. Eddie's widened as he got to see her face in the light, taking note of the grotesque traces of blood that had descended from her lips to the way her eyes barely looked like they had retained any sleep. Her clothes were torn and tainted with blood, the hole in her abdomen being more detailed now than before.

Finding a way to address how she looked without repeating what Mrs. Chen had told him earlier ("_You look like shit_,") would be impossible, so instead, he reluctantly reached for the towel on the floor, folded it over to get rid of the blood, then handed it to her. "Here,"

March looked down at the towel in his hands, then back up at him without saying a word. Eddie could spot drops of sweat forming on her forehead slowly trickling down her skin. She then slowly took the fabric from him and dried her face with it, successfully erasing any evidence of blood and tater tots crumbs. Her movements were slow, taking up to a minute to complete the actions before she finally put the cloth away.

"…Thank you,"

* * *

Marley could barely function properly, his heart was threatening to break through his ribs and out of his chest, judging by the way it beat so excessively. Around him, there was hardly anything but destruction and chaos, more than he had ever orchestrated his entire life. All around him, bodies laid scattered on the floor with limbs located several feet away from the physiques, blood concealed the surface of the floorboards beneath a layer of thick crimson, and he had on more than just a few occasions nearly slipped into it.

But worse of all was the fact that countless equipment had been demolished by that … that _thing_. Pieces of bullet-proof materials had been ripped from the walls, millions of dollars worth of advanced technology, progress, and machines … all gone in the blink of an eye. It had all happened so quickly that his mind had yet not processed what had happened. How that bug had thrown his most competent security guards around like toys, disintegrated them all in a matter of moments, torn through his most advanced equipment without effort.

He had scarcely gotten a glimpse of it before it had proceeded to get out of there, leaving a mess in its wake. The thing had been unhinged, unpredictable, an animal having been released from its shackles and yearning for freedom. And as he stood there in the midst of all of it, watching as the remainder of his personnel were cleaning up the bloody mess piece by piece, he still could not comprehend any of it. How did the symbiote manage to get a host when it was separated from everyone and everything else? The cell it was contained in had been locked, there was no one there as far as he could tell. None of it made sense, and he utterly despised it whenever it was his job to take care of it.

And how expensive his ignorance turned out to cost: he had now lost quite a number of guards, most of his equipment had been destroyed, and two symbiotes were now missing and at the hands of someone else. It was all just one shit-show after the next, and he was the one in charge of handling them whenever Drake decided that he was above getting shit on his own hands.

"Mr. Marley," Dr. Collins surfaced from the crowd in order to reach him. "We have to discuss–"

The COO had just about had enough of those incompetent scientists to put on an even mediocre display of interest. Just barely shifting his gaze to over his shoulder, he cast a glare towards the scientist that promptly halted his approach and his inquiry. Marley could feel his anger spike through the roof, but he had to applaud the way he managed to keep it so subtle. Years of working in business had left him with that trait, which turned out to be quite beneficial once you knew how to master it.

Now, however, he was struggling to keep it beneath the surface much longer.

"You allowed one of our most prominent subjects to escape, Dr. Collins," he spoke gravely low, turning his body around and taking a deliberately heavy step towards the frightened squint. "In doing so, it ruined almost half of our equipment, and only left a tedious amount of soldiers behind."

Another step.

"We are now empty of subjects to experiment on,"

A new step.

"We are out of volunteers,"

Another firm step.

Dr. Collins took one back in retreat. "S-Sir, I was –"

But Marley held his finger up, silencing him on the spot. "The Life Foundation is near ruin because of your neglect, doctor. I invested a lot in you, gave you access to these labs, to tools most people within the scientific field could only dream of getting their hands on, and this is how you repay my kindness?" He placed a hand over his chest, feigning heartache. "I thought I could trust you, but it seems that I was mistaken,"

Dr. Collins' face paled for each step back he took, and for each step forward which Marley took. The hair on his skin strutted upwards as he saw the menacing way his boss was staring him. "Mr. Marley, sir, I– "

"Maybe you too are _expendable_, Dr. Collins?" Marley suggested with a shrug, seemingly indifferent. "A scientist who is unable to keep watch of his tests is no good scientist at all, now is he?"

"I – I wasn't – "

"But tell me this," he interrupted again, sparing the man no time to finish his sentences. "How come the symbiote managed to gain a host? Who else was there but Dr. Skirth?"

"I – I don–"

"_WHAT THE FUCK IS IT THAT YOU CAN ACTUALLY FUCKING DO, COLLINS?!"_

"_Charlie,"_

The scent of mild cologne hit his nostrils and forced Marley to pause in his rant. Soft and deliberate footsteps approached from behind him until they were placed but a few feet behind him. Marley, already fully aware of who it was. If he wished to keep his tongue intact, he would have to play his card right. Otherwise, anything that could be viewed as a transgression could result in his disposal.

Dr. Collins, pale as a sheet, took the opportunity to back away step by step until he was out of range before he promptly exited the labs with the intent of getting out of potential danger. In his nature, Dr. Collins was a coward, but a brilliant one. He knew the measures to take to keep himself alive, which was a trait they both cherished and resented at the Life Foundation.

"Carlton," he uttered as decently as he could without revealing any internal turmoil. He shifted in his stance to face him, clenched hands tucked away in his pockets. "Our assumptions were correct. SYM-A02 has escaped with a host." His words leaked from his lips like liquid, meant to satiate the thirst for information the CEO was experiencing. His eyes felt as though they grew five pounds heavier for each second they spent looking into Carlton's chocolate-colored orbs, filling him with a sense of dread he seldom felt.

Even so, what agonized him the most was how utterly calm Carlton was; his stance remained stiff, his movements restricted, and his countenance was neutral. One could never have guessed that someone with his sense of equanimity could be able to inhibit such destructive anger once released and that alone made him feel threatened to stand within such close proximity.

They had known each other for years, even before the establishment of the Foundation. Still, Marley never considered himself as someone who could avoid Death in Carlton's presence. He was just as disposable as the rest of them were. The only difference was that he still served a purpose others could doubtfully fulfill, which was why Carlton had yet to deem him replaceable.

_Yet_.

"We have lost all of our symbiotes due to negligence," Carlton said, incredibly calmly as though he was weighing his each of his words. "One died due to lack of proper maintenance, the other one was stolen from us, and now, the last one escaped through the use of a host."

Marley tried to protest. "SYM-A02 took down some of our best men. We didn't have a chan–"

"_Apparently_," Carlton interrupted without raising his voice in the slightest, though his obscene glare made up for that. "It didn't kill enough,"

The COO felt his breath get caught in his throat, rendering him silent. Another word or so, and he felt that the entire world would come crashing upon him quite literally. While he doubted that it could really happen, he did not doubt that Carlton possessed the funds to make that happen if he wanted to.

"Who was it?" Carlton asked.

"We don't – We don't know," Marley answered while ignoring the urge to falter in his stance. "The security footage was destroyed by the time we tried to see what happened. No one was supposed to be there, and Dr. Skirth's body remained in the debris. It couldn't have been her,"

Anger. It reeked from him, oozed from him like saliva from his lips. Balancing his emotions had always been an easy task when it came to Carlton, but once he showed them, you knew that you were fucked. Marley could see his jaw tightening, bones showing from beneath his skin, the grip around Marley's shirt threatening to burst holes through the fabric.

Conclusion: _He was pissed_.

Suddenly, something seemed to dawn on Drake. His eyes grew wide, his skin paled, and his grip around Marley lessened. "Where's Dr. March?"

"Dr. March?" Marley adjusted his clothes properly. "I assumed you had dismissed her for the day?"

"She didn't leave with me," Drake insisted, his face changing back to how it always was; cold and solemn. He drew a hand over his mouth contemplatively before he turned his back to the COO. "Find them both, Charles," he ordered as he began to walk away to an unknown destination. "Find them both,"

* * *

With barely a moment to spare, March quickly dried her face with the towel, dropped it to the floor, and forcefully grabbed Eddie by the arm. Despite her frail appearance and considerably thin physique, he had to admit that her grip was disturbingly strong. He could feel his ulna ache beneath his soft skin to the point where he believed it would bruise sooner or later. "Hey," he called as he was dragged across the floor, barely able to keep up with her as he stumbled in his steps. "Where the hell are you taking me?"

"Treece will be here any moment," she explained as she continued to drag him over to the door, not even halting to grant him time to regain his balance. "We need to leave,"

"To where?"

"My place might be a temporary solution, but we'll have to be quick,"

She reached her hand forth to touch the doorknob but suddenly stopped. Her fingers lingered over the metallic surface of the mechanism. "I… I think I … _It_ …. Killed someone …"

Eddie looked over her from behind, but could not see her face. Her shoulders, on the other hand, began to tremble like she was locked in a cold cellar. "It killed people …. I think it … I think it did … There was blood …. Screams …"

A wave of concern washed over him, but when he tried to place a hand on her shoulder, someone knocked on the door outside. They both froze in unison where they stood, waiting anticipatingly for someone to announce their visit or give some sort of indication of who they were.

"_**Do not open that door,"**_

Eddie felt his ears ring and his head hurt worse now than ever before, which was saying something considering how he had been plagued with a longlasting migraine for the past twenty hours or so. He scratched the back of his head and sheepishly tried to reach for the doorknob, but stopped not even a second later. His rationality returned and he quickly retreated in his steps, feeling an overwhelming sensation of wariness erupt inside of him like a maggot crawling through his esophagus.

Something wasn't right.

He looked over at March, and she returned the gesture. Her eyes, heavy as stones with significant darkness lurking beneath them, were staring through his orbs as though she wanted to say something in any other way but verbal. He could tell that she was …. Scared? It was not something easily detected, but he knew fear when he saw it. But even though he too began to experience an urge to get out of there, curiosity remained with him. After all, it was a contributing factor behind why he made a prominent career as a journalist.

He had a tendency to stick his nose where it didn't belong.

A moment of contemplation later, he took a step forward, but subsequently felt a hand place itself firmly on his chest and he stopped. With one look, March placed a finger over her lips, and he obliged to the silent demand as though something was forcefully keeping his lips glued together. She tilted her head and gestured to his window, and his legs began to move towards the unconventional exit as if something else was pulling him. Eddie swore he could not feel his own muscles move like they were anesthetized. While he could physically feel the weight on his legs, he could not control their movements.

"What the hell?"

"_**We're getting out of here, now,"**_

After opening the window and pulling himself out of it onto the stairs outside, March moved closely behind him with unsteady steps that made it seem like she was on the verge of collapsing again. She pulled herself out, hands gripped tightly on the window-frame but suddenly fell forward as she lost her balance.

Eddie, having anticipated this, quickly moved forward and grabbed her shoulders, keeping her from landing face-first into the metallic boards beneath them. He felt her crash into his chest, her weight depending on him for support. His cheeks began to feel warm as he looked down at the dark-haired woman who was leaned into him, and seeing her so … uncharacteristically soft struck him as almost … _cute_. He imagined that she would push him away anytime now, but instead, she just regained her balance, moved away from him, and walked towards the stairs leading down, not saying a single word.

"_**Get your mind out of the gutter, Eddie. We need to move,"**_

"What the hell? I wasn't–"

But before he could argue, the door leading into his apartment slammed open.


	26. Chapter 26 - Payback

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom**

**A/N: So, guys, sorry for the long wait, though I must admit this is the shortest a story of mine has been put on hold. I tried several times to get this as right as possible, and even now, I'm not entirely certain. However, I did try my best and - well - I hope you enjoy it.**

**Something I just want to point out is that in this story, symbiosis is not easily achieved. It's usually just human + symbiote = BOOM! INSTANT FRIENDSHIP/RELATIONSHIP AND AWESOME POWERS. It isn't. Symbiosis, in my opinion, is a hard process both for human and symbiote, and it takes time before symbiosis is truly achieved. In this chapter, keep in mind that Evelyn is not in control of her actions (except for the last part, partially). She hasn't developed some kind of bond with the symbiote yet, nor it with her. More about that will come in the later chapters, I promise. For now, just bear with me and I will elaborate on it in the later chapters.**

**On another hand, off the subject, I've been reading some very good Venom fanfictions from '_Archive of our Own (AO3)'_ as of recently, and I just want to mention two of them because they are so friggin' amazing and I love them! **

**One is named "_How I met my brother and regretted everything_" and revolve around Sleeper and Carnage as they struggle to achieve a mutual goal. It's a mixture of dark humor and action, and I highly recommend it. If you don't know who Sleeper is, they are Venom's seventh offspring who appears in the recent comics.  
****Another story is named "_Hate Inoculum_", and it takes place in an alternative universe where the symbiotes are sentient spacesuits, and they have the objective to terminate galactic threats with their hosts.  
****Both stories are written by user _Prince_Of_Trash_, and again, I highly recommend them.**

**Additional art will be posted on my DeviantArt account: X-KuroShiro-X**

**Read, write and enjoy!**

_**UPDATED: 06.11.19**_

* * *

**Parasitic – 26: Payback**

* * *

Someone kicked the door down from the other side and three men emerged through the frame, armed and not looking like they had benevolent intent in mind. Had his life not potentially been in danger, Eddie would have been more worried about scraping together some coins to pay for the damage rather than to get the hell out of there as any ordinary person would. Being late on the rent for the past couple of months had left a lingering effect on him he wasn't sure could be removed by burglars breaking into his house and possibly breaking everything in sight in search of valuable items.

Upon closer inspection from beneath the window frame outside, however, Eddie began to doubt that these guys were your ordinary neighborhood burglars and thieves.

For starters, they were carrying firearms that did not seem like the average Glock 17. you would expect a common burglar to be in the possession of. They weren't wearing any masks either, be it balaclavas or nylon, which indicated that these guys were pretty much expecting to get a free ticket out of jail once the cops showed up… Though the cops were doubtfully on their way anyhow unless the landlord noticed any commotion, which he seldom did. There could be a full-blown war in the entire complex and he wouldn't as much as bat an eye. He was a drunkard anyway who always carried a bottle of Bacardi with him wherever he went, so there wasn't much to hope for in that department.

As the armed people started scurrying through the rooms, going everywhere from beneath his bed into his closet in search of something, or _someone_, Eddie was about to get a better look when something forced him to get up and quickly pushed into the brick wall next to the window frame, causing an inaudible _'ugh'_ to escape his lips as he felt a portion of air abandon his lungs on impact. As he opened his mouth to speak up against his assailant, he promptly shut it again upon seeing March glaring at him with a finger over her lips, commanding silence.

Surprisingly, he cooperated, though it felt more like his lips were involuntarily glued together into a thin line than it being a deliberate move, so opposing her didn't seem like much of an option.

March lowered her finger and provided a quick look through the side of the window, her irises started darting from left to right as she evaluated the situation without exposing herself to them. She continued to look around until suddenly, her gaze froze, and Eddie noticed how terrified they made the doctor appear to be despite her ordinarily callous characteristics.

He cautiously tipped over to get a view of what it was she had her eyes set on, and found himself looking at one of the guys he swore seemed familiar somehow, like a distant memory that had been buried in the back of his subconsciousness.

The lack of hair on the man's head served as a contributing factor behind the sense of recognition Eddie experienced. He could swear on his life that he had seen him someplace before, but it wasn't until he laid his eyes on the Life Foundation insignia at the back of the man's uniform that all the pieces of the puzzle came together.

He knew who these people were; more accurately, he knew who they _worked_ _for_. That realization alone tempted to make him march up to them and provide solid kicks to each of their shiny asses, but he knew that he would most likely end up as good as dead if he did it, or _shot_ for that matter.

A predatory growl resonated through his ears, one that seemingly went through his entire being and prompted his limbs to shudder.

"_**Treece,"**_ the voice snarled, vehement resentment practically reeking of its tone.

Eddie wasn't about to question why it was so pissed off at the guard and just continued to observe him. The guard moved calculatingly through the apartment, hands on his back and an unreadable expression planted on his face as he inspected what the rest of them did. He didn't seem to be in any state of distress or impatience; rather, it was like he was taking his morning stroll through the park.

The longer Eddie stared at the bald guard, he found that the stronger this intense feeling of _hate_ began to manifest inside of his chest, expanding like a tumor throughout his body to the point where all other emotions were low in quantity. His fingers continuously clenched and unclenched themselves, causing his nails to dig into his palm for each time the pattern repeated itself. _Fuck_, he didn't know why he was angry at someone he didn't even know. Maybe it was because this piece of shit was working for Drake, but that alone couldn't stir such inexplicable rage on its own. Not entirely.

For some reason, Eddie did not believe that the rage inside of him was genuinely his own. Perhaps a side-effect from being infected with the parasite –

"_**QUIT CALLING ME A PARASITE!"**_

Jesus, would this bitch ever shut up?

"_**YOU SHUT UP!"**_

Eddie tried. He tried his damndest not to let his anger get the better of him. Hell, he tried so hard that his nails were starting to claw up the insides of his palms, but it still wasn't enough. It was a herculean effort on his part not to give in to the satisfaction of jumping off the balcony to keep himself from listening to any more bullshit that voice had to spew. But what he did as a means to keep himself from actually jumping did little to make the situation any better; if anything, it worsened it.

He groaned, "Will you just shut the fu –"

"_Treece, there's someone on the balcony!"_

Hearing this, Eddie contemplated whether jumping from the balcony _now_ would be the solution to their problems. Of course, he _couldn't_ have just shut the fuck up _himself_, and now they were going to pay the price.

He turned to March in search of plausible answers that could benefit them or provide them with a way to escape from there unscathed, the faintest sense of hope lighting up in his chest.

The glare he received from her in return was strong enough to melt iron bars.

"_**You really are an idiot,"**_ the voice sighed.

For once, Eddie agreed with it.

Before he knew it, someone grasped at the back of his hoodie and dragged him through the window frame back into his apartment. He barely had any time to process what was happening before the view of the exterior stairs disappeared and got replaced with the ceiling inside his apartment. His back landed on the floor with a _thud_, and all air was knocked out of his lungs from the impact.

By the time he opened his eyes and regained focus, he had said firearms aimed at him from all angles. All he could think to say at that moment was just one thing, one simple word:

"_Fuck_,"

* * *

Words could not describe the unbearable sense of fear that rushed through Dan as he stared down at Eddie's reports from the MRI. Had he not already redone the diagnostics twice in a row beforehand, then he would never have believed that someone with Eddie's internal damages could still be standing properly without visible abnormalities in his behavior.

He considered asking Frank for a second opinion in case he had missed something himself, or to ask him whether or not something was wrong with the MRI. The thing was already old by several years, so it wouldn't surprise him if it was slightly malfunctioning due to age. While it was an idea he eventually discarded due to a lack of evidence to support his hypothesis, the notion still lingered with him as he inspected the reports once again.

Whatever kind of … _Parasite_ this was, Dan knew he needed to get Eddie admitted as soon as possible for further testing. One thing was whether or not this parasite was affecting its host alone. Another thing was if it could spread to other organisms; other people. If he had to make a guess, Dan would assume that it was Toxoplasmosis, judging from all the effects it had on his internal organs. Malaria was another option he considered, but he sincerely doubted it. Considering how malaria was most commonly received in especially warm climates like southern continents (someplace Dan felt reluctantly discouraged to believe was a place Eddie had recently been), he doubted the latter.

Since he didn't have Eddie's personal phone number, he knew he had to rely on Annie for this case. He pulled out his cellphone and was about to press Anne's number when suddenly another contact popped up on the screen, and he paused.

_Dr. Evelyn March _

Dan was caught between crossroads, torn between two choices and being unable to make the right call. What Frank had told him stuck with him_; "__If she wants to die, then let her die"._ Ironic how that piece of advice would escape the lips of a physician whose days primarily consisted of saving lives. But Dan knew that, in a sense, Frank was correct. He wasn't Evelyn's guardian or anything, nor did he have any reason to keep an eye out for her. She was an adult capable of making her own decisions, regardless of how much her morals clashed with his own.

_Even though he had already made a promise._

He looked down at the number one last time, his thumb hovered over the call button for a minute or so before he ultimately discarded the idea and pressed Annie's number instead, oblivious towards the fact that that evening, in particular, would be soaked with crimson fluids as far as the streets in San Francisco stretched.

* * *

Scrambling back on his rear and further away from the guard that had pulled him through the window, Eddie felt his Adam's apple go both up and down as he stared at the guns being aimed at him. The closer he inspected them, however, he realized that they weren't ordinary guns at all, not even Glocks. They were tasers, which indicated that their intent wasn't to kill him. Rather, they were determined to render him unconscious for some godforsaken purpose.

They were four men there in total, including _**Treece,**_ whose face stood out from the rest by the way he stared so sharply at Eddie, like a science professor about to dissect a frog with morbid fascination.

If Eddie were to take them all on one-by-one, he assumed that he would stand quite fair in terms of strength against them, without the tasers involved at least. However, in a situation such as this one, he was not about to put that hypothesis to the test.

Treece glanced to the side at the bloodstains on his floor and his table, trailing a finger over some of them. "Had an accident, Eddie?" he asked.

"N-No,"

"Then who has?"

He didn't answer.

_**Treece **_turned to the guard who had dragged Eddie inside. "Were there anyone else with him?"

The guard shook his head. "Not that I could see, sir,"

**_Treece_ **shrugged. "Doesn't matter,"

Where the hell was March?

He was roughly dragged up to his feet by one of the guards.

"Eddie," _**Treece**_ addressed him. "You did well in getting into the LF. I'd say I'm impressed, but right now, I'm gonna need Mr. Drake's property back."

Each of the tasers instantly lit up, aiming red targets at his chest.

Like a deer caught in head-lights, Eddie froze up and instantly raised his arms above his head.

"_**What are you doing?"**_ the voice asked as though he was questioning something that was absolutely ridiculous, even though Eddie's actions were perfectly reasonable within the circumstances.

"I'm – I'm putting my hands up," Eddie responded, not seeing how what he was doing didn't make any sense.

His arms violently swung down again, earning him a few puzzled looks from each of the guards.

"_**You are making us look back."**_

His arms lifted themselves up unsteadily.

"No. I. am. _Not_."

Arms down.

"_**Yes, you are."**_

Arms up.

"No, I'm not."

Down again.

"_**Yes, you are."**_

Up once more.

"No, I'm not."

"_**Why would you do that?"**_

"Because it's a very sensible thing to do?" At that point, he did not have much energy left to spend on what he could only assume was a one-sided conversation himself or with an auditory hallucination produced by a para – some kind of brain tumor.

"Eddie," _**Treece **_called him, but Eddie was too preoccupied with this internal argument to bother answering.

"_**I will take care of this myself,"**_

"W-What?" What the hell was that supposed to mean?

"Eddie, where is the bug?" _**Treece**_ asked, but being met with no comprehensible answer, he turned to his subordinates with one clear order in mind.

"Take him do –"

Treece's command was cut short as thousands of shards of glass and brick-debris flew into the room from the window frames like bullets, sending the entire place into a state of disarray. Furniture Eddie could care less about – a couple of chairs, some pots with decomposing plants in them, and things that he could not afford to concern himself with any more than he did the rest – slammed into the wall and rest of the guards struggled to maintain their composure as various objects threatened to puncture their skin on impact.

A monstrous figure Eddie deemed too unbearably familiar to forget emerged at inhuman speed through the open gap that had once been his walls, appearing more like a blur or a trick of the eye than a real creature due to its vast speed. He barely managed to process the view of what was happening before the figure threw itself right at _**Treece **_and sent the rest of the guards yelling incoherent orders as they tried to make out what to do.

The bald man fell back against the kitchen counter, his arms barely supporting him from behind as the dark figure loomed over him like a starving predator, hunched over the top of the counter with legs on each side _**Treece's**_ head and his face just inches away from its mouthless head. Eddie could see the fear become present in his eyes, even from the distance between them, and he doubted that he himself would have looked any different had it been him instead of _**Treece.**_ In fact, Eddie had just experienced something vastly similar just moments earlier, so he had a pretty good guess about how it felt.

As the guards had their attention momentarily turned away from Eddie, a black substance abruptly extracted itself from his right hand. A warm feeling akin to holding his arm beneath bathwater accompanied the sensation, and it stretched out to an inhuman length like a vine. It knocked the guard closest to him out the window and broke it in the process, sending shards of glass descending down to the pavement along with the body. Eddie barely had any time to acknowledge the black goo that retracted itself back into his right hand before his left hand mimicked the same movements and extracted the same vine-like material.

The black sludge grabbed the other guard by the throat threw him up to the ceiling, seemingly knocking him out cold as he landed harshly on the floor.

The remaining guard's attention was aimed at _**Treece**_, who was trying desperately to get his assailant off him.

The guard reached for his taser and aimed it at the monster, but before he could shoot, Eddie's watched as his own arm extended down to reach for one of the dumbells on the floor. It threw it at the guard before he could act, knocking the poor guy into the refrigerator and sending him into a state of unconsciousness similar to that of his co-workers.

This was … Eddie had no words to describe it. While he deemed his vocabulary somewhat under-expanded for his occupation and age, he didn't even know of any words beforehand that could describe what the hell this was, or how he was feeling. His nerves were disoriented, his mind went rapid, and whatever he knew to be true before suddenly lost its dependability in the face of these changes of events. He thought he had seen all there was to see about the world, but as he watched the black substance extract itself from both his palms and merge together to form a makeshift rope, he began to second-guess that statement.

"Wha – What is _that_?" he asked as his body was promptly forced to turn around and tangle the black material around the head of the guard he had thrown to the ceiling, who had suddenly revived himself.

"_**Not 'what', but 'who',"**_

His arms then twisted the sludge around the guard's neck, forced him around, and threw him over his shoulder to the floor, causing the man to crash with a loud _thud_. This time, he was _definitely_ out, but Eddie checked just to make sure.

Yup, he was out alright.

On the other side of the room, the figure stared menacingly down at _**Treece,**_ and even though it did not possess any distinctive facial features to shape distinguishable expressions. The tendrils protruding from its back were planted like roots on each side of the man's face and on the floorboards behind them, serving as a means to intimidate the man. Judging by the way his eyes continuously darted to the side in search of plausible escape-methods, it was efficient to a certain degree.

_**Treece**_ vastly attempted to reach for the gun he kept attached to his belt, but before he could lift his arm to grab it, the figure quickly snatched his wrist and, with little effort, snapped it with the flick of its thumb. It bent into an unnatural angle, and all color left _**Treece's**_ face at a pace faster than light.

A deafening shriek echoed through the apartment's walls from the guard's mouth. Eddie had to cover his ears to keep the sounds out. For whatever reason, listening to it brought him more pain and discomfort than he thought was possible.

The figure's seemingly indifferent reaction towards the man's display of agony was a disturbing view from the ex-journalist's perspective. He thought that March, whom he assumed was still someplace inside that hideous creature, would object against such inhumane acts if she had even a smidgen of control over that thing.

The figure promptly dropped the misshapen wrist and leaned closer into _**Treece's**_ pain-writhing countenance, lifting one of its clawed fingers to point it dangerously close to the man's right eye. Its sharp feature threatened to scrape the surface of his iris, but instead of piercing through the eyeball like anticipated, the hand turned around to display its palm and opened it up, revealing a tiny, metallic object that Eddie could not make out entirely from where he was standing. However, what he did make out was that upon inspecting the small object, _**Treece's**_ eyes went wide with traumatized disbelief and his pupils shrunk as it once more acknowledged the figure hovered over him.

Before the figure could proceed to do anything else, two more guards abruptly emerged from the open door and one of them instantly aimed its taser at it, though there was evident fear in their eyes as they acknowledged the inhuman creature. The barbed darts successfully managed to hit the creature's back and electric volts surged through them upon contact.

However, they earned no reaction from the figure, which seemed to shock both of the guards.

Instead, the creature effortlessly shook the barbed darts off its back, letting them slide to the floor, and slowly turned around to address the two new figures that had threatened its presence. A pair of new tendrils sprouted from its back and extended towards the guards, striking them both, sending one of the guards out the already-broken window with a shriek and the other one right at Eddie himself.

Eddie let out a yelp as the guard came his way, and he quickly fell to his knees in time for the flying body to pass him. A loud _crash_ was heard and he dared not turn around and address the damage that fall might have caused.

Needless to say, if he was economically unstable before, then this just added more salt to the open wound that was his wallet.

"_**Outstanding,"**_ the voice praised as he got back up to his feet. _**"Now, let's bite all their heads off and pile them up in the corner,"**_

Say what now?

"Why would we do that?" Eddie asked, still trembling with shock and confusion.

"_**Pile of bodies; pile of heads,"**_

He gulped. "I don't … think we have time for that right now,"

"_**No? Well, then get Lasher and let's go. As much as I'd like to see Treece's entrails cover the walls, I doubt we have time to watch if we don't even have time to eat."**_

Lasher?

Eddie spared only a brief look at all the destruction and number of unconscious people in his apartment (or outside his windows for that matter) before he quickly made his way over the floors (carefully avoiding stumbling over anyone that might have laid in his way), successfully reaching the monster just as it raised its hand to strike _**Treece **_while its other hand was keeping a firm hold around his throat.

"Whoa, whoa, wait!" Eddie intervened and hurriedly reached for the figure's raised arm, keeping it from striking down at the guard with as much strength as he could muster. It felt cold to touch it.

"March!" he shouted. "We need to get the hell out of here!"

The figure (which he decided to name "Not-March") momentarily shifted its attention from _**Treece**_ and to Eddie, and he swore he could feel the pits of his stomach descend to the bottom of his abdomen upon seeing how menacingly it glowered at him. While he had already seen those eyes closed up on him about less than twenty minutes ago, it was not an experience Eddie was enthusiastic about reviving.

"Eh … uh … Ehm … he tells you that we need to go," Eddie said, gesturing to his head.

"Not-March" leaned closer to him with a scrutinizing gaze before it promptly turned its attention back to _**Treece**_ who, at this point, was panting heavily to the point where his cheeks puffed out between each inhale and exhale, evidently still in pain from having his wrist broken. "Not-March" then proceeded to lift him with the hand still clutched around his throat, and with a speed that made everything seem like a blur, threw _**Treece**_ down against the counter, causing the back of his head to collide with the marble surface with one loud _BANG! _His eyes shut and a slurred drawl left his lips as a piece of the marble counter cracked beneath his head and fell to the floor.

At this point, Eddie was beyond worrying about the bill.

"Not-March" then subsequently dropped the guard to the floor like an expired product about to be thrown out the trash (which probably wasn't too far from the truth), and it jumped down to the floor. It shifted around to face Eddie, and for a second, he expected it to attack him as it had earlier.

It didn't.

Instead, it was simply standing there; like a soldier anticipating an order from its superior, even though its height stood quite a few inches over Eddie's stature.

He gulped again, focusing on anything but its eyes as he spoke. "We should probably get out of here," he said, trying his best to maintain his calm in spite of the circumstances. It wasn't easy, but he managed. Whether the actual March could hear him beneath all those layers of bluish goo was a question he wasn't sure could be answered verbally, considering the "Not-March's" lack of a mouth.

The longer he stared at it, the more Eddie found himself equally mesmerized as he was horrified. Whatever it was, he just begged whatever God existed that it wouldn't provide him with a concussion similar to the one it had just provided _**Treece**_ with.

Still, it didn't.

Eddie was just about to question its lack of movements when "Not-March" abruptly grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him back, causing him to nearly crash into the broken window with his head hitting the edge of the frame. So much for a concussion.

It wasn't until he opened his eyes and noticed bullets flying through the air past him that he realized that being pushed served a purpose that was to his benefit. Shortly afterward, another guard entered the apartment with a gun in his hands, evidently determined to finish the job the rest of them failed to. He didn't get very far, however, before "Not-March" grabbed him by the face and proceeded to slam him down on the floor, leaving behind a significant crack in the boards.

The guard wasn't moving, and for a second, Eddie doubted he was still alive. A cracked cranium was not something he suspected was easily mendable. However, upon noticing the faintest twitch in the guard's body beneath "Not-March's" hold, Eddie could only assume that he was alive, though it was in a state less preferable than death. The number of broken bones in his body wasn't something he wished to discuss.

Just as "Not-March" was about to slam the guard down once again, whether it was to be certain that he posed as no threat or to simply decimate him, Eddie got up to his feet and ran up to it. "Wait! Just wait for one goddamn moment here!"

Surprisingly, before he had even caught up to it, "Not-March" turned its head to look at him and haphazardly dropped the guard to the floor like a dog being told to drop the stick. Upon seeing its eyes stare at him so intently, Eddie's body went rigid once again and he found himself struggling to make out anything from the situation. On one hand, it had just saved him from being shot. On another hand, it had just barely massacred an entire room of people with …

He looked down at his own hands, not having realized that he too seemed to have something similar stuck to him just as March did. Whatever it was – this … malady of theirs – they needed to get out of there before it could harm anyone else, or themselves for that matter. He wanted to demand answers, demand some kind of response from March – wherever the hell she was inside that thing – but if they didn't get the fuck out of there, then they wouldn't have the ability to ask anything of anyone.

"Look," he said and held up his hands, signalizing to "Not-March" that getting into a violent confrontation was the least of his intentions. "Could I – Could I please get March back? I really, _really_ need to talk to her, and you don't exactly look like you – _eh_ – q-qualify for verbal communication,"

Eddie wanted to smack himself with a book or something on repeat. Even a belt would suffice, but he had neither parts at his disposal. Talking like that, he must have looked like he wanted to get slammed into the floor too. He briefly cast a look towards the open (correction: _kicked down_) door and he contemplated whether running was still an option, but before he could make a decision, "Not-March" continued to stare unpredictably at him for another moment or two before it straightened its back to its full stature and slowly melted away into a person Eddie didn't realize he had slightly missed until he saw her.

The turquoise-colored layers gradually merged into her clothes, disappearing beneath dark hair and pale skin and leaving behind a ghost of the woman Eddie deemed his only ally at this point. While he was not absolutely certain that she was by any means reliable, he couldn't afford to be picky anymore if it meant that his life was on the line.

Upon opening her eyes again, March let out a gasp that made it look like she had been denied access to air for a good portion of the time she spent beneath that … thing. Eddie could easily tell by the beads of sweat that were forming on her forehead and the hand clasped over her chest that it may not have been too far from the truth, but they wouldn't have time to discuss their shared trauma unless they were deliberately waiting for more people to show up. Much to his surprise, however, she looked much more alive now than earlier, and her pale complexion had regained some of its colors, though the shades beneath her eyes remained ever as prominent. An effect of eating those tater tots, he guessed.

As if suddenly realizing where she was, March turned her head to the room, observing all of the calamity that had taken place minutes earlier. She was speechless; you could have dropped a spoon in the room and the sound it would produce would have been the equivalent of dropping a vase and listening to it shatter through the chaotic space.

"This … This is …?" Her voice was hoarse, as though she had spent a good portion of her life screaming her lungs out. Her eyes trailed over the bodies scattered on the floor to the broken wall from which "Not-March" had emerged through. For each time she discovered something new within her range of vision, Eddie could tell that she grew more and more … _fearful_. Her movements were stiff and rigid, and she took a couple of steps back from the mess. A part of him wanted to somehow console her, tell her that this wasn't her fault, but that would be considered lying.

He despised lying.

She continued to behave that way until she noticed _**Treece**_ on the floor, and her entire demeanor changed.

The subtle traits of fearfulness on her face were replaced with … sharp bitterness, like looking at someone you bore a vehement grudge towards. Her eyes sharpened and her mouth tightened to shape a subtle frown, one that was strong enough to even send Eddie bolting the other way had it not been for the fact that it wasn't aimed at him this time.

At first, he expected her to ask him something akin to "Who is he?" or "What happened here?", but instead, Eddie heard something he at first believed was just a trick produced by his brain.

"Is he alive?" she asked, voice utterly monotone as her posture regained its composure. Eddie could easily tell that her question was neither of concern or curiosity. It was out of spite like she was asking _why_ he was alive.

He didn't know how to answer and just shook his head. "I don't know, but I think so,"

March looked down at the unconscious guard again like she was contemplating something rather questionable. Then, without warning, she walked up to _**Treece's**_ unconscious form until she towered over him, lifted a foot just above his head, and promptly stomped it down on top of his face. A considerably loud _snap!_ was heard upon impact with _**Treece's**_ face and her shoe, which Eddie cowered to upon hearing.

When she retracted her foot again, there was nothing but blood covering the lower-bottom of _**Treece's**_ face. There was a significant bulge on the bridge of his nose, which was now slightly bent to the left, with blood pouring out of his nostrils like rivers down his face. He had to admit, however, that it was a rather gratifying view.

Eddie parted his lips to utter a comment, but March instantly snapped her attention back to him, as if daring him to speak of it.

He promptly shut his mouth and kept quiet.

"Then," he asked sheepishly, pointing his thumb back at the open door without looking away. "Should we get going or…?"

* * *

Treece could scarcely feel anything in his body, but there was an unmistakably sore spot in his face and in his wrist that was just begging him to relieve them of their misery. He opened his eyes just in time to see the disoriented image of white fabric disappear like a ghost out the door, though it took him a few moments for his senses to regain their dependability entirely, and by then, the white figure was gone.

The moment he regained his senses, however, he instantly wanted them to go numb again. Not only did the center of his face feel like it was on fire, but his entire being felt like it had just ventured through a near-demolished house with all the debris having descended upon him.

Getting back up on his feet was near-impossible due to the injuries his body undoubtedly suffered from, but Treece swallowed his pain and did it anyway. Several of his limbs made several popping-sounds as they were forced into action, but years of military training and fighting had left him with a sense of immunity towards agony. It was something he was forced to remind himself every time he was exposed to something he considered to be his worst experience thus far.

There was always something worse.

As he got to his feet, Treece slid a hand over his face and came to discover the red fluids that covered his leather glove, not even paying his wrist any mind at all. The blood was one thing, but the sore spot at the center of his face that refused to subdue itself meant that his nose was most likely broken. Hell, it had happened countless times before, so he was no stranger towards snapping it back into place.

That didn't mean he enjoyed it.

With his index finger and thumb placed on each side of the bridge of his nose, Treece forced it back into place with a brief and easy _snap._ The sensation was enough to make his eyes water.

_Fuck!_

But now that that ordeal had been dealt with, Treece turned around to observe the rest of his group while cradling his injured hand, noticing how the majority of his guards were stirring up on the floor, evidently shaken but still alive and able to fire a gun if he ordered them to. They were still reusable; tools designed to follow his command regardless of its content.

_"Treece. Treece!"_ His earpiece started to go off, which he was forced to answer with the hand that was barely functional.

It was Drake. _"Treece, the last symbiote has escaped!"_

"What?" he asked, uncertain about what he had heard was true.

_"SYM-A02 got out of its containment and took a host. I want you to find it and bring it back to me. Both of them. Do you understand? We believe that they are both still in the city. Contain them!"_

Did it get out? It took a host? ... Skirth was already dead, it couldn't have been her...

As Treece began to pace, he felt something hard beneath his boot, and when he picked it up to see what it was, all sense of self abandoned him as he recognized what it was.

A bullet; more specifically, one of _his_ bullets. One he had just used recently on **one person**.

It had been shown to him by that ... _thing_.

Treece bit the inside of his cheek to the point where he drew blood and clenched his first with the bullet still in his grip, breaking it to pieces. He already knew who it was. Hell, he had seen it right in front of him, having nearly lost his life against it.

_Goddamn it!_

Without even looking, he raised his other wrist and promptly forced it back into its proper position. He could not even feel the pain resonate through his body as he did so. He had other things to concern himself with

This was bad.

Very bad.

If Drake got to find out what had happened, he was dead.

He was very much dead.

Unless ... Unless he could kill both of the freaks and get the bugs out of them before he found out.

_"Treece,"_ Drake called. _"Do you understand?"_

"Crystal, sir," Treece answered. "Crystal clear,"


	27. Chapter 27 - Only Human

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom**

**A/N: So, I've just read the news about the sequel to Venom. For one thing, it will be directed by Andy Serkis; a brilliant director whom I love. **

**Second, this is that the villain _Shriek_ is going to appear in the movie alongside Carnage, and needless to say, I'm ECSTATIC.  
**

**For those of you who do not know, Frances Barrison aka Shriek serves in the comics as both one of Carnage's most trusted allies (during the few times he actually _has_ any) and love interest. She's a mutant with both the ability to manipulate sound - quite fitting, considering that it's one of the symbiotes most fatal weaknesses - and draw out people's darkest desires, such as making parents want to kill their children for the slightest misbehavior, or making you want to harm your professor for marking your essay with a B instead of an A, etc. Perfect, right?**

**Even before her character was announced for the movie, I had already planned to incorporate her into the story. She, alongside many other familiar characters, will appear later on in the story. I'm looking forward to it.**

**Sorry for any grammar mistakes or spelling mistakes. I'm quite tired and it's late. Some things I've written might not even make sense XD.**

**Additional art will be posted on my DeviantArt account: X-KuroShiro-X**

**As always, read, review and enjoy!**

**(Updated 06.11.19**

* * *

**Chapter 27: Only Human**

* * *

Eddie didn't say anything as they stepped out of the building. Rather, he couldn't say anything to say – couldn't find it within himself to pronounce the words that were gathering up inside him like liquid filling in a mason jar. Questioning his sanity aloud was not something he was aversed to – it tended to become a coping mechanism on occasion – but to verbally address the issue in front of someone who was notorious for condescending him was not a level even he would stoop to.

Speaking of which, March had not said a single word herself since their brief exchange prior to Treece's interruption and the subsequent damage done to Eddie's apartment. He knew she was a silent person in general, but this was another matter entirely. Perhaps she had damaged her vocal cords in the midst of the chaos, or her own nature was simply keeping her from engaging in a conversation like an ordinary human being? For some reason, the latter seemed the most reasonable.

He spared her a sideways glance, easily noticing how she appeared to be on the verge of dropping to the ground where she walked. Her steps had been slow, almost deliberately so, and he didn't doubt that it would be long before those green eyes of hers shut, especially when considering how they were continuously dropping down at frequent.

Her hair was practically falling out of the thin tie that was keeping it all together, her eyes were casting shadows that almost reached the ground, and she looked deathly pale to the point where she could have been mistaken for a walking corpse. Even Michael Jackson could've envied that. Eddie had seen dead people before – not a pleasant sight – and she did not look too different from them if he was to state his personal opinion about it.

**_She had practically been dying minutes earlier because of a …._**

Because of _what, exactly_?

A bug? A virus? An illness?

**_"We're not bugs,"_**

Eddie suddenly came to a halt in his steps, wariness washing over him like a tidal wave as realization struck him straight in the face. He could feel his heart grow tight in his chest like a sudden pull from within had shook it. He looked down at his hands – his perfectly _normal_ hands – both of which had been black as coal and _clawed_ back in his apartment, having acted on their own accord.

**_"On MY accord,"_**

"_SHUT UP_!" Eddie yelled, gripping around his head in a vast attempt to shut out any sound. "_SHUT THE HELL UP_!"

"Mr. Brock," he heard March address him, and he looked up to see her standing there in front of him, still and void of any sort of sympathy for his condition. A porcelain-like look on her that irked him more than it consoled him, even if that wasn't her intent.

Without even thinking, he lurched forward and grabbed the woman by the edges of her lab coat and held her up, her feet hanging just barely above the ground, though he did nothing to keep him from continuing. Rather than looking at him with a terrified look in her eyes, Eddie found naught but those same lifeless eyes that had been within him for the last hour or so.

The eyes of a _corpse_.

Something that couldn't feel anything; no life; no remorse; no guilt whatsoever. Was there any doubt that she was human at all? From his perspective, there was a massive load of it, and he had plenty of evidence to back up that hypothesis.

"I'm – I'm sick," he said hoarsely, gripping tighter around the sections of her coat until he nearly punctured holes in them. "I'm sick too… like you … This isn't real, right? None of it is. It's just in my head."

"Mr. Brock," March spoke without increasing the volume of her voice, even though she was being literally held above ground by him. "This is not the time to doubt your visual capabilities. None of this is produced by a lack of mental stability, I can assure you."

Eddie shook his head. "Stop fucking with me," he pleaded, shaking her just slightly to ease himself of the frustration that was gathering up inside of him. He didn't care that he was threatening the well-being of a woman. No, he didn't care at all. He was _scared_ – scared beyond what he could describe. He was _terrified_. His abdomen felt hollow like a cavern but twice as heavy as anything that might have occupied it. There was a gaping void in the darkness of it, filling him with dread. Something that wasn't quite as non-existent as he would have preferred it.

Beads of sweat descended from his forehead and stained his clothes, he felt cold to the core, and there was no way for him to comprehend any of it in a way that would be sensible. The only one he could rely on in that moment of disbelief was a woman – a _murderer_ who had contributed to the deaths of countless, and who had just threatened his life as well.

"I'm _sick_! I'm _infected_!" He yelled this as he stared at her, his tone just barely restrained enough to keep him from screaming out his message like he was dying. "You're – You're a doctor, you need to fix this! Fix _me_!"

"I cannot fix it," she responded as she gripped a hand around his wrist, attempting to pry him off though it was to no use. "This is … beyond my knowledge."

It was ironic. "_You_ did this to me,"

"I … did nothing to you,"

She was hesitating to answer; a trait Eddie never expected to hear from her. A woman, so immune to the sentiments of humanity, was visibly struggling to answer what Eddie could only deem was a simple question on her part. He noticed how she repeatedly felt tempted to avert her gaze from him, as though looking would bring her immense discomfort. In a sense, as if he had been granted the power of the Evil Eye.

_Schadenfreude. _If it wasn't for the fact that Eddie was too preoccupied with freaking out over what to do, he would have undoubtedly mocked the circumstances and how uncharacteristically the doctor was reacting to them.

"Well, then your buddy Drake is to blame for this, isn't he?" he asked, voice drooling with sarcasm to the point where it was almost a literal statement. He could swear that he was on the verge of losing it completely had he not had the tiniest sense of self-restraint.

This _wasn't_ real. None of it was. It couldn't be. This was the sort of thing straight out of a Sci-Fi movie, Aliens, whatever kind of shit – you name it. Neither sickness or a parasite couldn't extract itself out of a body in the way it had done with him. It was supposed to break his immune system, damage his nerves, make him jump straight into a lobster tank and eat one of the lobsters alive without any consideration whatsoever to the many consequences of his actions. _Those_ were the things that were orthodox about such maladies.

What it _wasn't_ supposed to do was throw a dozen guards out the window, leave his apartment in a state of ruin, and take control of his body to the point where he did a flip in the air and knocked a guard over the head.

There was no way for it to actually be real.

Everything he had seen … from the thing that had taken control of March herself to the same thing that had taken control of him …

_No_.

"Mr. Brock," The utter state of calmness that resonated from the doctor's voice temporarily managed to snap him back to reality, and he promptly looked back at her and realized what he had done. Regret hit him like a brick to the face, but he didn't let go. His hands wouldn't budge, and he didn't know whether to credit that to his own anger or his sickness.

But the thing that scared him the most was that she did not seem affected by his behavior at all. She almost looked … what he could only describe as slightly melancholic, but nonetheless composed.

"Mr. Brock," she said again. "I know little more of this than you do, but if we manage to leave this place, then I will tell you everything that I know about them."

_Them_?

"Everything?" he asked, daring to hope. "You promise?"

He noticed how her eyes seemed to widen at the sound of the last word, but she didn't say anything to announce what had caused it. Her lips opened slightly as to let out a sound, but they didn't.

Instead, she simply nodded, and for some reason, that was enough to make him content.

Taking a deep breath one last time, Eddie promptly released his grip on her, allowing her to properly regain her balance as she slid back to the ground. However, his eyes didn't stray away from hers. He had much he wanted to say, much he wanted to demand the answers to, but he knew that he would not get it by being upfront and threatening. Patience was a virtue, but fuck he needed those answers.

* * *

"Is this all that was left of the specimen?" Axelson inquired as he studied the tube in his hands. "Nothing more and nothing less, right?"

"Right," Dr. Collins confirmed as he crossed his arms over his chest like a proud scientist who had just managed to invent a cure to cancer or some other type for supposedly incurable disease. "Carlton initially wanted me to get rid of it. 'Useless', he called it, but I disagreed. I think it still holds some value,"

"Hmmm," Axelson paid the man no mind as he continuously flipped the bottle over, observing the yellowish liquid as it lifelessly smeared itself up against the inside of its tiny containment. It was a small amount, barely amounting to three ounces at most if he was to make assumptions based on perspective alone.

"You know, I'm not really supposed to show you this," Collins said. "If Carlton knew of this, he would–"

"Killing you would be a sufficient method to dispose of anyone disloyal, I agree, and I wouldn't deem Drake as above it," Axelson said indifferently as he pulled the tube into the pocket of his uniform, sealing the zip shut.

"Hey! Hold on a moment–" As Dr. Collins reached to intervene, Axelson did not waste much time grabbing him up by his shirt, effortlessly lifting him above ground with his feet dangling slightly. The doctor squirmed in his grip and tugged harshly at his assailant's grip, though his attempts at freeing himself were ultimately futile. Axelson would have almost laughed at the spectacle had he not already been occupied with something far more critical than the pleas of a simple scientist.

He had what he came for. After six months of being stationed in that hellish place, he had finally managed to get his hands on the substance in that tube. While Simms would have preferred it if it was in a state of liveliness, as they had initially anticipated it to have been in, it had not completely lost its value. It could be … mended. They undoubtedly possessed the resources to do so, and right now, he had everything he needed.

That terrified expression on Dr. Collins was not out of the ordinary; wide eyes, quivering lips, struggling movements. Axelson had seen it before, with different people on different occasions. He had never killed an innocent one before, be it a man, woman or a child, but this sack of horseshit was as from being innocent as he himself was from Mars. He would have done the world a favor by ending his pathetic existence, and it made no difference to him. If he wanted to, he could easily snap the scientist's neck with the flick of his thumb, but he knew a death within the facility unrelated to the symbiotes would seem suspicious and warrant attention he couldn't afford to take care of.

He had seen what those creatures were capable of first-hand and, needless to say, Axelson found himself as excited as a child on a Christmas morning. Simms had not been lying when he first conveyed the news of these alien creatures being the potential protectors of humanity. _Lethal protectors_, true, but protectors nonetheless. Drake lacked the patience required to guarantee success, so he was easily deemed unfit to be in the possession of them. At first, Axelson had believed them to be mindless and unhinged, creatures who relished in bloodshedding and violence.

But then he came face to face with one of them, and his opinions changed drastically. He recalled seeing it there, standing there like a Queen in the midst of the corpses that had been sacrificed in her name and uttermost glory. A deity in need – no, _deserving_ of being worshipped; A divine existence that put the Golden Calf and God Himself to shame. For a split moment, while he stood in that blood-coated room, he anticipated his eternal rest at the claws of the Queen. Instead, he discovered that not only the creature not only spared him a glance with its white eyes, but it had also deliberately granted him the right to live whereas the other members of his squad were all but slaughtered.

A truly, magnificent creature.

And if this specimen could grant them even the tiniest amount of that same divinity, then it would be worth it.

"Carlton will kill me if–"

"Let _me_ worry about him," Axelson said and placed a finger over his lips. "For now, should Drake question the whereabouts of the remains of SYM-A03, tell him that you discarded the remains just as he wanted. That you grew bored with it. Do me that favor, and remember," He tightened the grip around Collin's throat, deliberately restricting his breathing until there was naught but vague gasps escaping his lips.

"If I hear of any snitching about what happened here, know that you might just end up _begging_ Drake to kill you instead. I, on the other hand, will not be so lenient. Capiche?"

* * *

The bathroom was filthy, to say the least. The walls were covered in all kinds of graffiti drawings that depicted obscenities, the floors were drenched with different fluids – few of which she assumed to be water alone. She could detect at least seven different types of odors reeking in the air upon entering the stalls, and she would have identified them each separately as well had it not been for the urgency of the situation.

The moment she shut the door behind her, her first instinct was to make sure that the stalls were all unoccupied, which they were – save for a few bugs that had taken the liberty of inhabiting some of the toilets. Fortunately for her, the urge to relieve herself was not amongst her priorities at the moment.

The first thing she committed herself to was to clean herself of any traces that indicated that she had recently endured physical hardship. It was a simple matter to use the least filthy sink the bathroom could offer and wash her face; dust and other signs of collateral damage were quick to disappear with an easy swoop of water, leaving her face in a state of wellness, but fatigue as well. Upon looking back at her reflection in the mirror over the sink, she paused for a moment as she absorbed the image of her appearance.

Evelyn had seldom concerned herself about how she appeared to others. It was trivial, and by no means of any use to be considered attractive unless your intentions lied with seducing members of the higher parts of the hierarchy in which San Francisco placed their citizens. Her occupation alone ensured her a metaphorical place on the throne, but her overall characteristics arguably placed her at the lower steps.

And how that she looked at herself in the mirror, she could admit with honesty that had her appearance been put on the hierarchical ladder, she wouldn't even have made the first step. Her skin was considerably bleak, more so now than usual. Her eyes almost seemed as though they were sunken slightly back into her skull, and she could not find it in her vocabulary to even describe the state the rest of her body was in. She did not have any energy left in her to deduce what condition she was in – she was …. Too tired to do it. Nearly forty hours without any sleep wasn't something she hadn't undergone before, but it was nonetheless convenient in these circumstances.

Evelyn placed both her arms on top of the sink and just barely leaned her head into the mirror, feeling a wave of _uncertainty_ wash over her. It was a foreign feeling, one she didn't know how to properly manage, but it was there nonetheless. Everything was … too unpredictable for her linking. Everything had changed, and she didn't know how to handle it in terms she could understand. Like a child being able to put the pieces of a puzzle together, but unable to make anything out of the image it depicted due to the complexity of it.

Her eyes trailed down her clothing, which had been thoroughly stained with her blood … _Her blood._ Slightly old, but still fresh enough to reek of a metallic scent that was typically accompanying its exterior presence. She knew that scent all too well to her liking, and it could seldom be credited by her occupation.

**_ "You've never bled before? How dull, Evie."_**

**_"I can make you bleed if you want. It's easy."_**

She slammed her fist down on top of the sink, sending a wave of pain spiraling through nerves. For some reason, however, she didn't feel any of it upon impact. Even though she could feel her arm shake and vibrate from the hit, there was little that made her aware of the bruise that was on the verge of being born.

_Blood_…, she thought, she was _bleeding_ … Not insignificantly either; it was a lot. It was _her_ blood. It was hers. Just hers. Blood she had never seen exit her body in any other way; there always had to be an unnatural cause or affliction, like a wound of an accident. It never came naturally to her as it would any other woman, and for some reason, she felt a growing ache in her chest erupt from that thought.

She had been _shot_.

That's right. That's what had caused it all to start – the catalyst that sent it all into motion. A bullet.

**_She fell to her knees with an arm placed on top of her stomach, feeling a prominent pain grow there that outweighed the ones she felt before. Her chest began to shake for each breath she took and it seemed as though something wet was covering her shirt from the epigastric region of her abdomen._**

**_Looking down at it, she discovered that both her shirt and her arm was wholly covered in _**_**blood**_**_._**

_There had been so, so, so, so, so, so, so much **blood**._

_No, no, no,_ this wasn't supposed to be. Her body stiffened up and began to tremble, feeling cold and unable to control herself. She tried to remain calm, to regain her demeanor as it was meant to be. She wasn't supposed to behave so irrationally; not like this.

She lifted her blood-soaked shirt up to inspect the wound, only to discover that there was nothing there but a ghost of a scar where she had supposedly been shot; a trace of what vaguely resembled but a cut from the past. Traces of blood from her clothing covered parts of her skin, but otherwise, she was in no injured condition. It was as if whatever had affected her had occurred years ago.

She had been shot, **killed**, and that's when **It** had merged with her.

_The Symbiote_. It was … inside of her. Crawling, squirming like a tapeworm, she could practically feel live off her; Using her body. Feeding of her organs. Taking control of her like a puppet. She recalled vomiting blood in Mr. Brock's apartment; she could still taste the metallic on top of her tastebuds. She recalled the wind brush her face as dozens of people were slaughtered around her, she recalled the smell of more blood filling her nostrils – suffocating her - and she recalled all of their cries and their screams. Men, women, all of whom were equally silenced after mere moments of liveliness.

She had witnessed it with her own eyes and seen her own hands slice through those humans like scalpels through mere chunks of flesh. It had been so easy, too. So unbearably easy, and that had been… _terrified_ her the most about it. How simplistic it was; "a piece of cake" as some would refer to it as. Even though she had not deliberately fulfilled the action herself, not entirely, she could still vaguely remember how swiftly Its claws had sliced through the soft, wet flesh of those people, how the warm liquid that once surged through their bodies drench her – _its_ – claws.

_Ironic, that's what it was. She had seen blood before, either when treating patients or herself due to natural accidents such as tripping or cutting herself while preparing food, but to see this much of __hers__ in such a large amount threatened to send her in a state of hysteric shock. She had seen countless people die, and she had been indirectly responsible for a handful of those, but to physically be the one to drive the knife through them was … __excruciating__._

**_"You've never bled before? How dull, Evie."_**

_No._

**_"I can make you bleed if you want. It's easy."_**

_It wasn't supposed to be easy._

Killing …. She wasn't someone who killed. Her job was to save people, to help them. That's why she became a doctor in the first place; to help people, to save their lives and treat them of the maladies that plagued mankind, even at the expense of their own comfort.

**_"Are you sure about that?"_**

Yes, she was sure. That was her purpose in life.

**_"And exactly just how well have you managed that?"_**

Their names … She recalled all of their names.

Maria Nordstrom, Harry Beckley, Jacob Markson, Elliot Greenfield, Samantha Decker, Hugh Taylor, Mary Lopez, Conner Kensington, Emily Ross,

_… Dora Skirth_

They were all dead. All of them, and she had contributed to it.

She had been the person behind the trigger.

And the thing that was now circling through her system, countless people had perished at its hands. They had been killed slowly, painfully; choked on their own blood as their organs were tarnished and consumed from the inside; their bodies had jerked and twisted around uncontrollably as their nerves were torn apart, dissected like frogs on a table. In the end, all that had remained of their dignity were mutilated corpses; in states beyond human recognition.

And she had allowed **it** to use her.

**_"You have killed, you have tortured, you have destroyed; you have done all the things that you swore that you would never do. You have become just like HIM,"_**

"No …" She clutched her hands around her head, desperate to deafen the sound. She knew that it was nothing more than simply an auditory hallucination of some kind – most likely produced from the stress her body was undergoing – but that did not make it any more endurable. She wanted it out, _out, out._ She wanted it gone, this thing that was inside of her. She didn't want it anymore.

It had killed people – made _her_ kill people. She wasn't a killer – she didn't want to be like _him._ Just as twisted, just as sick. She had spent years trying to rid herself of what had happened, but now it all came back to her. The blood was still fresh on her hands, just like it had been _that day_.

She had **_killed_**, she had **_tortured_**, she had **_destroyed_**.

Could it all be credited to the creature inside her alone?

The **_ungeheures Ungeziefer._**

**The monster?**

**The vermin?**

**_The parasite?_**

Or was she to blame as well?

**_"Hurting people is fun, you know. It's so easy, too. The world exists only to be killed, and I will be the one to do it. You too, Evie. You'll also kill, someday."_**

Had she relished in the strength it provided her – like a drug? Was it something she genuinely had enjoyed, and just denied for the sake of self-preservation? Was she that arrogant that she denied her own culpability for the sake of her own pride?

She didn't know. For once in her life, Evelyn didn't know anything.

When she looked back into the mirror, her heart stopped and her body froze within the ghost of a second. Instead of seeing herself as she would have expected, _HE_ was standing there; his lips stretched into an inhuman grin, his teeth flashing as it did. She could scarcely spot his eyes beneath his curly crimson hair, but the green in them were unavoidable to the core.

He looked at her in the same way a pet owner would look at their adorable kitten **_BEFoRE He mUtilaTed ItS CorpsE, _**but also the same way a predator would look at its prey just before making the kill.

_CRASH!_

Thousands of shards went their separate ways as her fist made contact with the hard mirror surface, few of which remained stuck in the skin of her knuckles. Her fist was shaking and still raised mid-air by the time she finally managed to register what had just happened. The cracks in the mirror showed several disoriented angles of her, but none showed any signs of red hair, which was more than something to be relieved about.

"He's not here …" she murmured breathlessly. "He's … not here …"

He never had been, for the past decade.

He was _gone_ – for good.

Looking over at her bleeding knuckles, she quickly discovered that the wounds were gradually sewing themselves back together; the faintest glimpse of turquoise stretching over them as they healed. The pieces of glass that had been stuck to her flesh all fell down to the floor one by one as the skin returned back into the smooth surface that had been there before. The inadequate traces of blood disappeared along with the rest, leaving nothing behind at all to prove that she had been harmed.

Evelyn quickly traced her fingers over her hand, seeing no scars left behind, nor any drops of blood that would indicate in the slightest that she had just physically injured herself. There was absolutely nothing, which was more than she could say for the ones that had died because of it.

She couldn't keep herself from expressing her distaste, feeling her words reek with vehement loathing as she spoke. "_Why_?"

She looked into the mirror – into every piece that depicted a different angle of herself – but there came nothing at all.

"Why did you allow me to live, but took away their right to do the same?"

True, she had made some kind of 'agreement' with it, but that was beyond the comprehensible. It had been nothing more than a hallucination produced by her near-death experience; this thing could not communicate, nor could it understand anything. Letting her live … she did not know why it did it, but she knew that it was only a matter of time.

After all, it was an unpredictable creature, not human.

Though they hardly seemed different at this point.

"I will allow you to live if you allow me to do the same," she said, looking straight into the many small pieces. "But you will not make me a murderer,"

No answer, but she could feel something stir inside her chest.

"You will not make me … like _him_,"

Sensing a tingle in her right hand, Evelyn looked down and spotted the faintest turquoise color around her little finger. It was scarcely visible, almost at the brink of being nonexistent, but it was there.

As soon as it appeared, however, it went away.

* * *

"She sure is taking her time," Eddie said with a huff, irritability crashing down at him in equal speed with his tiredness. For the past half hour, they had been keeping low in one of those shaggy, old stores downtown with too many dropout urchins and drug dealers to make themselves known to the majority of the city. Ever since they left the apartment complex, he and March had ventured through the city in an attempt to get out of the LF's radar, but doing so proved to be much more challenging than they initially anticipated. Every black car, or every car in general, was a suspect, and he couldn't tell if that made him cautious or overly paranoid.

It was hard to tell those two apart considering the circumstances.

The store itself wasn't nearly half as bad as you would expect from someplace down in the slums. It was partially a convenience store and partially a café, less luxurious in terms of quality when you compared it to the likes of that of Mrs. Chen's, but no less affordable. Even with the low amounts of coins he still had in his pockets, Eddie was still able to buy himself a cheap sandwich and some soda from the counter without a problem. While the quality of the product could be discussed, it satiated his increasing hunger enough to avoid having … whatever was inside him complain.

Shortly after they arrived there, and after ensuring that they were not being followed or stalked by anyone with less than honorable intentions in mind, the first thing the doctor did was to proceed to the bathroom stalls without even telling Eddie about it. On second thought, he couldn't blame her. He imagined that walking around in bloodied clothing would warrant some attention they couldn't afford to have aimed their way at the moment.

So Eddie settled down in one of the least filthy seats he could find in the store – located in the furthest corner – and made do with what he could get, finishing his food at record speed and not saying a single word for the duration of it. Eating helped him feel better, and considering how the only people in the store were the eighteen-somewhat-old cashier behind the counter playing on his phone and a few urchins who paid no mind to him, Eddie relished in the solitude the place provided with.

The door to the bathroom stalls opened and March stepped out again, looking just as sharp and cynical as she did before everything escalated. With the exception of the dark circles beneath her eyes and the evident traces of fatigue, Eddie would not have guessed that she had endured any kind of significant hardship – at least, not the kind they had endured less than a few hours earlier. The main giveaway, however, was the fact that she still donned the bloodied lab-coat and shirt, which was a clue in itself that she had been involved in some kind of fight.

Her eyes scanned the entirety of the store before they fell on him, and she subsequently made her way towards him. She sat down on the seat on the other side of the table and said nothing, she just crossed her arms over her chest.

"Alright," he said, breaking the silence and jumping straight at it. "You owe me some answers,"

"Then ask," she said curtly, looking as though she was on the verge of blacking out from where she sat.

"First off, what the hell are these … these things that are inside of us?"

She seemed unimpressed with his inquiry. "You have already been provided with those answers," she responded, barely looking at him. "They are called symbiotes; the same ones Dora–…" She paused for a moment. "Dr. Skirth intended for you to receive evidence about so that they could bring the Life Foundation to an end."

"That still doesn't explain shit," he said. "What are they? How do they make us … hit things with superhuman strength and throw people out the window?"

For a second, she was unresponsive again. Her sharp eyes just, for once, were aimed at his and he suddenly found it hard to say anything else. It was like she was scrutinizing something about him; a teacher about to judge whether or not her pupil had done their homework or not.

"Perhaps you could inquire him yourself, Mr. Brock,"

"What – What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

**_"She means you should ask me instead, idiot,"_**

Eddie immediately jerked his head to each side of the room, trying to find out – and praying that – whoever was speaking was currently in the store and not inside his head.

But there was no one but the cashier and those urchins who for some reason decided to scram.

"Mr. Brock," March called him, looking more annoyed than tired at this point. "The symbiote proves capable of verbal communication with its host. Does it– does _he_ communicate with you?"

"I'm sorry, but did you just say _he_?"

"I did,"

"You're telling me that this … this parasite …"

**_"I'M NOT A PARASITE!"_**

" – This _creature_ goes by a name?"

As March opened her mouth to answer, her eyes suddenly darted to something behind him and she promptly glued her lips together again – not uttering a single word.

Eddie quickly glanced over his shoulder to see the cashier looking at the both of them with wide eyes, his lips quivering as though he was freezing cold for some reason even though the temperature inside the store was just about right.

"Can we help you, buddy?" Eddie asked sharply, sounding more thuggish than he would have preferred toward an eighteen-old-somewhat kid who didn't look like he earned enough per hour to cover his tuition.

The kid pointed a trembling finger over to March, and only when Eddie turned back to look her did he realize what it was that had warranted such terrified behavior from the kid. The discovery made him want to smack himself over the head with a frying pan. Twice.

"You know," he said. "You really should consider changing into something less … bloodied if you wish to avoid drawing attention to yourself,"

"I don't have anything to change into," she replied, sounding like she was being questioned about something that was perfectly reasonable. "Nor do not feel inclined to walk bare on the streets. It would be inconvenient to receive a cold at this time."

"Okay," Eddie deadpanned and got up from his seat. "Wait here a moment."

As he approached the counter while counting the money he had left in his pocket, the cashier continuously moved up against the wall behind him until he could go no further. The poor kid's skin had paled so much that it would have made an anemic person go green with envy, and Eddie knew he couldn't blame him. Seeing someone covered in blood enter the store during your shift could only do so much to a person's psyche, but Eddie was adamant in trying to make things go easy for the both of them.

"Look, kid," Eddie said as he pulled every coin and dollar he could find and placed it on the counter. "We don't want any trouble. My friend here just got mugged, and we don't have much money, but you wouldn't happen to have some kind of leftover uniform shirt we could borrow, would you? Along with something to eat?"

While the money he had left could barely afford one of their sandwiches, much less a shirt, the cashier only nodded and, without even looking at the coins on the counter, quickly made his way into the back. Not even a minute later, the kid returned with a wrapped cheese-and-ham sandwich and a black turtleneck shirt with the store's logo badge embroidered at the heart of it. While the shirt itself seemed decent enough – longsleeved and comfy – the only problem was that it appeared to be twice as big as the size of the woman who was supposed to wear it.

Eddie thanked the cashier, who seemed more than happy to be left alone before he walked back to the seats where he expected to find the doctor up and around in time to receive the food and shirt.

Instead, he found her leaned against her seat – sound asleep and looking the most peaceful he had ever seen her. Pieces of her hair hung over her face, the dark circles under her eyes seemed more accommodating now than before, and it was almost strange to see her in such a state of helplessness.

Eddie sat down into his seat and placed both the shirt and the sandwich on top of the table, and he felt mildly tempted to wake her up and get the ordeal over with. He still had questions he wanted answers to, and it would only be a matter of time before **_Treece_** and the rest of his shitty group knocked on the door. But he couldn't find it in himself to disturb her rest. He wanted to get answers, but at the same time, he was feeling rather exhausted himself. Perhaps he could wait a moment longer.

He trailed his eyes over the sleeping figure which belonged to March, and he had to admit to himself that it was almost odd to see her that way; helpless and susceptible to dangers. In that brief period he had spent knowing her, all he ever got to see was a cold woman who hardly seemed to care about anything or anyone but herself. The way she spoke, behaved, even the way she moved reminded him more of some kind of robot than it did a living creature. He had seldom seen her eat anything, with the exception of those tater tots back at his place, and he had never seen her sleep like this.

Looking at her in such a state, perhaps the strangest thing was knowing that she was a human after all? Not a machine lacking emotions or general needs, but a human who required sleep and food just as much as he did himself. It made him wonder if she really was nothing more than a monster, or if she was actually a person.

He sighed and placed a hand on top of his face. "_Shit_,"


	28. Chapter 28 - Denial and Disbelief

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom**

**A/N: So, I managed to finish this chapter quite earlier than I anticipated. I think it's because I felt a bit dissatisfied with the last chapter, so I wanted to put more effort into this one, which I think I did. I've also updated some of the previous ones. We'll get to that in a bit.**

**You may have noticed that I portray Eddie as somewhat of an asshole in these chapters. It's not with the intent of changing his character to better benefit my story. It's because I imagine him to be a wholly empathetic character who sympathizes with everyone, except prosperous people who are corrupt or dicks. Because of that, he views Evelyn with antagonism because he believes that her involvement with the human experiments and Drake makes her just as bad as them. However, their relationship will improve, I promise you.**

**Also, I just want to clear up that Eddie still isn't entirely convinced that Venom is real. He's desperately trying to cling onto the belief that he's still sick, but he's coming around.**

**Also, in chapter 26, I forgot to add something, which I did today. If you go to that chapter and read from Dan's POV and come back here, you'll get a clue about what it is.**

**Additional art will be posted on my DeviantArt account: X-KuroShiro-X**

**As always, read, review and enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 28 - Denial and Disbelief**

* * *

Treece was less than enthusiastic about the change of events that were unfolding around him – all of whom served him potentially fatal consequences he was even _less_ enthusiastic about enduring. He knew as much, however, and that was that he was _fucked_. He was very, very, _very_ much so, and all because that _cunt_ just didn't know how to die. Being a doctor and all – that was the ironic part. He knew he should have just strangled her then and there like he initially plnaned to, but he was never one for beating around the bush. Better to get it over with as quickly as possible.

Only that it didn't.

That bitch just had to live, and she just had to take Drake's last piece of property with her. As if things couldn't get any shittier, Brock was with her, and they had both remained under the radar for the past hour or so. Even after hunting through the majority of the city, they were unable to track them down. Not a single security came in the vicinity had managed to spot them except the ones that had been outside the apartment complex by the time they had managed to escape, and even those images had been unclear at the time. You could barely spot the figures as they made their way out of the perimeter and into the unknown, which was the city at night.

Treece leaned back into his seat, hand clutched around his sore nose as he tried his damnedest not to give in to the satisfaction of throwing a punch through the window frame and relieve himself of the seething anger that was threatening to burst through the roof of the car. He could tell that his subordinate was sensing the tension within the vehicle because he would occasionally cast a nervous glance in Treece's direction and prepare in due time when to make a break for the door before shit went straight to hell.

Treece could accept that without a fuss.

But then the poor fucker decided to open his hole.

"We're gonna get 'em, Boss" he said, though his voice betrayed the reassurance he was trying to convey. "We got eyes on every part of the city, we'll get the both of 'em before– "

Treece fucking lost it.

Grabbing a hold of the poor fucker's scalp, he began to shove it repeatedly into the wheel of the car, watching relentlessly as drops of blood spewed across the dashboard as he continued with the torture. The poor guy incessantly pleaded for him to cease his assault, but his cries were concealed behind all the snaps of his facial bones.

Only when a satisfying amount of blood was dripping down the guy's face did Treece let go of him, and the guy immediately threw himself back into the seat and coughed several times, heaving to the point where his chest nearly touched the ceiling, and with good reasons too. His nose was cracked beyond makeshift repair, covered in blood that continued to flow from both his nostrils. One of his eyes had begun to swell around and the sucker barely looked alive.

_Good_.

Treece granted him a minute or so to recover whereas he himself spent that moment trying to find new solutions to this ordeal of his. Apparently, searching around the city like a pet owner looking for their lost mongrel wasn't working for them, so he would have to take another method into consideration. His work depended on this after …

_Work._

The bitch worked at the general hospital, of course!

Perhaps she had a co-worker she depended on, or slept with for all he cared. Maybe she had gone there, or at least informed someone of her location.

A smile spread across his lips, and he turned to his bruised and bloodied subordinate with the same smile, deliberately not caring about his condition.

"Set course for the general hospital,"

* * *

The last hour wasted away like dust in the wind. Eddie didn't realize how tired he was until he found himself repeatedly dozing off in his seat; his body ached for the same kind of relaxation that March herself relished in on the other side of the table. While he never fell asleep for more than a few minutes at a time, he vaguely noticed how the minute hand on the clock seemed to skip forward by at least six to ten minutes each time that he reopened his eyes.

During the few minutes he actually managed to stay awake, his eyes would continuously dart over to the windows, making sure that no one was peeping into the store without his knowledge. While he occasionally caught a glimpse of a couple of urchins who passed by and a few drug-induced homeless guys who didn't know right from left, there wasn't too much to be concerned about, and the store seemed to be one of those _OPEN_ _24/7_ kind of places, so he didn't have to worry about getting kicked out of there after the clock struck a certain time.

Over the course of the hour, during the minutes he managed to stay awake, Eddie witnessed March stir in her sleep at various moments, making it seem highly likely that whatever she was dreaming about, it was vivid enough to cause her body to react. A nightmare? A dream? A mixture of both or nothing at all? Just bodily functions reacting to the stimulus of sleep? He didn't know why he found himself so inquisitive about it, but he partially blamed it on the fact that he was wary, bored, and not any less deprived of sleep than she was.

"Bet she's dreaming of killing puppies," he muttered to himself as he saw her unconsciously shift in her seat again, her eyes squinting together ever so slightly. "Or maybe kittens? Maybe she's dissecting a human being if she's lucky? Going real Dahmer; Bundy; maybe even Howard Holmes or some shit."

"_**Your humor is most tedious,"**_

He frowned. "I _didn't_ hear _anything_," he said without raising his voice to warrant attention from the cashier, who looked like he himself was on the verge of dropping down behind the counter due to lack of sleep.

"_**You heard me well, moron,"**_ the voice said in a reprimanding tone. _**"Otherwise, you wouldn't be responding,"**_

"I've spent enough time dealing with one monster, ain't no way I'm dealing with another one, much less one in my godforsaken head," Eddie spat, but quickly adjusted the volume of his voice before making any further statements.

"_**I'm not a monster,"**_the voice growled. _**"And neither is she,"**_

Eddie huffed. "I've spent a great part of my life surrounded by monsters, and needless to say, she makes it almost to the top on that list."

"_**You're being stupid, more than ever,"**_ it hissed. _**"She's hardly as cruel as you imagine her to be, I've seen worse amongst your kind,"**_

"Yeah? How so?" He couldn't believe that he found himself biting onto it. "Instead of puppies and kittens, she prefers to dissect rodents and amphibians? Is that it? The redeeming trait?"

"_**As far as I can tell, she didn't dissect anything,"**_

"Count me surprised,"

"_**You're not surprised,"**_

"I was being sarcastic,"

Eddie rubbed the bridge of his nose with a sigh, feeling heavy with agitation. "Why the hell am I even having this conversation?"

"_**Because you're **__**alone**__**, Eddie,"**_ the voice replied. _**"You're always alone, and whenever you're alone, you crave some kind of company,"**_

"Doesn't mean I want it from my own head," he said bluntly. "Truth be told, if it ever came to a conversation, I'd rather take my chances with Bundy over there, even if half of the crap she says is how she's going to dismantle my corpse."

"_**Wouldn't be much useful to dismantle, then. Your head, at least, is as hollow and as full of shit as a toilet. It's pathetic to the core, and by no means inhabiting any phenylethylamine,"**_

"Any _what_ now? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"_**It means you're useless, in a nutshell. Even someone with your limited intelligence should be able to make out as much, though I may be underestimating you,"**_

Eddie gritted his teeth together so tightly that it felt as though he was about to chew them to bits. "Listen here, you auditory shitstain, I've had it with this crap since the night I made the call. I've been sick as shit, I've climbed into a fucking lobster tank and _eaten_ one of the lobsters in front of my ex and her boyfriend, and I'm currently on the run from a criminal organization with a half-dead doctor sleeping on the other side of the table, who just recently tried to kill me. I don't know what the hell is going on, but I do know that I ain't gonna rely on some jacked hallucination for guidance, so zip the fuck up or so help me God, I will do it myself – _GAH_!"

He instantly felt something wrap around his neck like a noose, tightening ever-so-slightly per second. Without even realizing it, he started to desperately claw at his throat but didn't get very far before he realized that there was absolutely nothing there to claw at. No material whatsoever, nor anything remotely resembling a rope. To anyone who might have been unfortunate enough to see him in the act, they would doubtfully have hesitated in calling the local food administration for suspicion of food poisoning, or the insane asylum under the suspicion of an escaped patient.

When Eddie glanced over his shoulder in a fit of asphyxiation, he was met with the sight of the cashier-kid hunched over the counter with his arms stationed beneath his face as pillows, snoring loudly enough to warrant the attention of the Life Foundation. Eddie couldn't tell whether the lack of attention he received benefitted him or otherwise, but he wasn't about to risk having the ambulance called on him in case _**Treece **_hijacked the vehicle.

With what little remained of air in his lungs, Eddie forced himself to utter, "J-Jesus Christ, alright, I_-I'm sorry_!"

Surprisingly, the invisible grip around his neck ceased in an instant, and Eddie quickly found himself gasping for air as though he had been held beneath water for ages. If there was a medical condition that forced the individual to committ themselves to compulsory acts of self-loathing, then his body was in desperate need of a check-up.

"_**At this point, I'm envious of Lasher for having such a disciplined female for a host while I got stuck with a loser," **_It sounded almost like the voice was pouting, and Eddie couldn't tell whether he was bemused or further horrified. An amalgamation of both, perhaps.

And two could play that game.

"Well, if _I'm_ a loser, then what does that make you, Mr. Auditory-Shitstain?" he asked with a smirk. "You're in _my_ head, after all,"

"_**And like I said, it's hollow and dark in here."**_

"Fuck off,"

"_**And quit calling me an auditory hallucination!"**_

"Then what the hell are you if not a hallucination? A parasite?"

"_**PARASITE?"**_

"Okay! _Okay_, let's say you're not some alien para– lifeform that's decided to use my body until I puke out my organs, then ship my carcass. What the hell are you?"

"_**Not 'what'; '**__**who'**_._**Evelyn has provided you with answers, yet you have refused to listen. Are you sure you want to know now, or will you try and run away like before?"**_

Was he really about to do this? Ask a voice in his head to show itself - to reveal itself for him? He remained much in denial, he wouldn't deny that fact, but this had gone far enough. He had seen enough, heard enough to accept that this was no longer just a trick of his fucked-up head. Hell, he wanted to continue to believe it – _After all, the oldest fear to man was the fear of the unknown_, as the old guy once said some ages ago. If he wanted to, he could still credit it all – the voice, the black goo, the destruction to his apartment, the death of Maria … - he could credit it all to some kind of mental illness, but would that make him any less insane than he already presumed that he was, or would it be the other way around?

He wasn't going to lie – he was terrified. At the age of thirty-four, there were few things he could admit that he was afraid of, but this definitely took the cake. But he didn't have anything left to lose, except whatever remained of his mental stability, and even that was low in quantity as it was. As terrified as he had been hours ago, frantic and desperately trying to come up with a solution, he realized that there wasn't much else he could do anyway, so why not just give in to the benefit of the doubt already?

Eddie held his breath as he mentally prepared himself for what was about to come, even though he had no clue about what it was. "Alright," he said as he intertwined his hands together on top of the table, exhaling one last time through his nostrils. He didn't know what to be prepared for, but there was no backing out now. "_Who_ are you?"

* * *

As Dan ended the phonecall with Annie informing her about Eddie's condition, he was about to check the condition of one of his other patients when a group of tall and dark-dressed men entered the vicinity, none of whom seemed like the approachable sort of group.

At first glance, he thought that they were a group of undertakers or something; or people who were present for some kind of memorial that was about to take place. Only two people that day had passed away as far as he knew: Henry Weatherby (54) who died of a stroke before he could make it to the hospital in time, and Margaret Olsen (23) who passed away due to an undiagnosed malady that Dr. Renfred was in charge of overseeing.

But these people didn't seem like they were of the mourning sort at all, if he was to state his personal opinion on the matter. They were all pretty rough around the edges, like rocks from his perspective (or a moon, in regard to the bald one at the front of the clique), and one of them had the face of an abused dog; bloodied, beaten and had by no means been exposed to any kindness from the looks of things. While Dan was not one to judge based on appearance, these guys gave him a bad feeling from the moment he laid his eyes on them.

And it didn't help that they were making their way specifically towards him.

"Can I help you?" Dan asked as he put away the files with Eddie's information, masking any suspicion that might have come to view on his face. "I'm terribly sorry, but visitation hours are closed until tomorrow afternoon,"

"That's alright," said one of them, the bald one who took the leisure as presenting himself as the boss of the group. He took a step forward, which made his superior height come to view. Dan couldn't keep himself from subtly gulping upon noticing how incredibly tall he was in comparison to himself.

"My name's Roland Treece, and we were wondering if you, by any chance, are acquainted with a certain Dr. Evelyn March?"

Alarms started going off in Dan's head. "Yes, I'm acquainted with her. She's one of my colleagues. May I ask what this is about?"

Treece's lips spread to a subtle smile, eyes flickering down to the nametag on Dan's coat. "You see, _Dr._ _Lewis_, Ms. March has been involved in some illicit activities that concern the Life Foundation. I'm certain you know who we are,"

_Ah, so that's who those people were._

"Illicit activities? Of what kind?" Dan made note of sounding curious rather than inquisitive.

"Unfortunately, that's classified information," Treece responded. "But all you need to know is that Ms. March may face dire consequences unless she comes clean about what she's done and –"

"Wait a moment, are you telling me that she's _missing_?" Dan couldn't keep the shock from becoming vocal as he placed the pieces of the puzzle together. Even amount of alarms going off inside of him increased considerably, and none of them were there without a cause. He had just seen Evelyn yesterday, and now the Life Foundation was accusing her of committing some kind of felony?

But what shook him the most was the fact that they did not report it to the police instead, and as far as he knew, there were no reports of any manhunting. The only thing he could recall on the news worth noting were reports of a series of homicides that had taken place just outside of Sacramento. Four people were dead, and five more were reported missing, but that's all that came to his mind in terms of recent manhunting.

But he sincerely doubted Evelyn was behind those.

Whatever it was, he wouldn't risk taking this guy's words on it.

Dan looked up at the group of men with a distinctive kind of scrutiny in his eyes, one he seldom displayed. You could give him the most difficult of patients, and the look he would give them would be but an expression of patience compared to the one he was currently providing these sketchy men with.

No way in hell did he fall for that crap.

"Unfortunately," he said as he readjusted his smile. "I haven't seen Evelyn since her last shift yesterday, so I am unable to provide you with any valuable information."

"Would you happen to know where she lives?"

What the hell?

Dan shrugged, feigning ignorance. "Sorry,"

Treece's smile swiftly turned into a sour frown, but he did one hell of a good job keeping it as neutral as possible. Dan had learned over the years how to read a person's expressions, whether they were smiling, frowning, cursing, or outright trying to kill him. Psychology had never been his strongest suit, but he knew well enough to exploit it when the situation called for it. And right now, he knew one thing for certain.

That man was _pissed_.

"I see," Treece said and inclined his head towards him. "Then, if you happen to know of anything," he reached into his pocket and extended a card towards him. "Please do give us a call,"

Dan took it but did not even cast a single look at it. "I will. Have a pleasant evening,"

"You as well, Doc,"

"Before you go, are you sure you wouldn't like for one of your men to receive an examination?" Dan suddenly heard himself asking and tilted his head to the bruised guard behind Treece. "He looks like he's been in a rather nasty situation,"

As the bruised guard's eyes (or eye, as the other one was forcibly shut because of an abrasion) lit up with happiness, Treece's eyes suddenly snapped to the side and he touched what looked like an earpiece into his right ear. As he spoke into it, voice deliberately low, Dan could vaguely hear the voice on the other side saying something that evidently seemed to catch Treece by surprise and simultaneously send him into a state of euphoric bliss.

"Richmond District?" Treece asked.

The voice in the earpiece confirmed it.

"We'll be there. Await the drones until you hear my command."

He then quickly snatched the bruised guard by the shoulder and dragged him away, smiling as he did so while waving at Dan. "Thanks for the offer, doc," he said as he and the rest of his group ventured down the corridor towards the exit. "But we'll just be on our way,"

Dan pretended to be naïve, but the moment those men were out of the hospital, he didn't hesitate to throw the card into the trashcan next to him. He instantly pulled out his cellphone, dialed Evelyn's number and got ready to –

"_**I neither solicit your opinions nor your concern for my well-being. So I would appreciate it if you refrained from such inappropriate behavior and restrained yourself for future references."**_

He could practically hear her admonish him with those cold eyes of hers staring right at him, even though she was not even physically present. It was weird when he put emphasis on it; back in the days at university, she would look up at him with admiration and _affection_, but now, all that remained was that cold woman whom you could basically place next to a block of ice and not be able to tell the difference between.

_But he had made a promise._

A promise to a dying man on his death bed.

A promise he was adamant in keeping.

"_Keep an eye out for her, will you?"_

Not even a second later, Dan clicked on the dial button and pressed the phone to his ear, waiting. He didn't know what he would do, but whatever hell she had gotten herself into, he wouldn't stand by and let her get killed or something.

Why?

_Because that is what friends do._

* * *

"_**Someone's calling,"**_

Eddie blinked. "Huh?"

"_**In her pocket,"**_ the voice said. _**"There's someone calling,"**_

"I don't hear anything,"

"_**That's because you're deaf as shit! Go check it!"**_

"Jesus, who pissed in your cereal?"

"_**JUST FUCKING DO IT! IT'S BUGGING ME!"**_

Giving into its childish demands, Eddie got up to his feet and reached over to March's pocket, careful as to not wake her up. She wouldn't take too kindly to him peeking into her shit, whatever it was she was hiding. With luck, he managed to fish out a cellphone from her right pocket without waking her up. Unlike what the voice indicated, the phone neither let out a sound nor vibrated. The sound must have been put to mute because there was someone calling her as the voice had anticipated. But it was the name he saw on the caller's ID had him shooked.

_Daniel Lewis_

"She seriously got his contact of all people?" Eddie asked himself with a shudder, not even willing to think about why she got his number of all things. As if the constant reminder of the fact that Anne had moved on didn't just plague him in his own mind, but now he had to be followed by it outside his head as well? In a way, it made sense for her to be acquainted with him considering how they were practically colleagues at the same hospital, but he didn't think that acquaintanceship extended to number-exchanging and all that.

Eddie looked over at March and paused. He then looked back at the phone and reluctantly pressed _accept call._

"Hel– ?"

"_Evelyn, what the hell is going on?" _The urgency in his voice was unmistakable, and even Eddie had to pause for a moment before he came up with something to say in response to this suddenness.

"Hi, Dan," he said sheepishly "It's Eddie,"

"_Eddie? What are you doing with Evelyn's phone?"_

Shit, what was he supposed to say? "Long story, we kind of crashed into each other and now we're at a café," _Fuck_, he was bad at this. He made it sound like they were on a date. "How's it going?"

"_Are you with Evelyn now?"_

"I – um …" He glanced over at her sleeping figure. "She went to the bathroom just now,"

"_Shit,"_

Eddie was caught off-guard by this. He didn't imagine that a goody-two-shoes such a Dan had a section in his vocabulary reserved for swearing. "You okay, Dan?"

"_Eddie, I need you to get Evelyn and yourself out of there right now. Get to the hospital as soon as you can,"_

"Yeah, about that," _Come on! Find a good fucking excuse! _"We're currently stuck at the café for the moment,"

"_What? Why?"_

"There – There was a car crash nearby, and the car crashed into the entrance door and locked us all in,"

"_**You really are a loser,"**_

As if he didn't already know that.

"So, unfortunately, we can't –"

"_Eddie, are you in the Richmond District?"_

What the hell kind of question was that?

"Maybe," Eddie offered. "I'm not sure,"

"_Eddie, there came a group of people from the Life Foundation to the hospital just now. Someone named Treece is looking for Evelyn, and they just left for the Richmond District. Wherever you are, you need to get out of there __now__!"_

No fucking way. How on earth did they manage to find them that fast? Eddie felt tempted to look out the window and search for the snake that had rattled them out, but it was too dark outside to see anything in the distance.

"Dan," he whispered. "They're after the _both_ of us,"

"_What? Why? What did you do?"_

"We didn't do anything! They were – " He took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair. "They were killing those homeless people, those on the news. They were conducting human experiments on them. That's why they're after u -"

The phone suddenly got snatched out of his hand before he could finish. Eddie, too startled to even react properly, watched as March – now up and awake – closed the call and promptly put the phone back into her pocket. As Eddie opened his mouth to argue, he was met with the most cold-blooded and vehement glare he had ever seen from her, which said something. Her green eyes were aimed at him like throwing-knives, and Eddie couldn't tell whether to be scared or angered by this display.

A mixture of both became the final result.

"Why'd you do that?!" he asked.

"_He_ couldn't _know_," She nearly bared her teeth at him like a wild animal, though her voice was by no means any louder than it usually was. The distinctive difference, however, was that it was practically audible how angered she was. Even her restrained features couldn't cover it up.

She took a sharp step towards him, threatening his space, to which Eddie was forced to take half a step back in retreat, though he refused to be cowed into submission like a dog on a leash.

"He could've helped us, for fuck's sake!" he all but shouted at her, taking the dozing cashier behind them into consideration, who still managed to sleep through the entire ordeal. "Was I _not_ supposed to tell him?"

"Not _him_," she said, curling her fingers together into a fist. "He won't hesitate to offer his assistance to us, and _that's_ the problem,"

"What's the problem with that?" Eddie didn't know what to make of her words. "The guy wants to help, then let him help. At least he's better at doing his job than you are,"

He could easily tell that he had just struck a nerve. Her shoulders were shaking, but not because she was cold. Still, she continued, though her tone was evidently sharper; as if someone had just sharpened her vocal cords with a whetstone. "Dr Lewis is always willing to put the needs of others above his own," she explained, never once looking away from him. "He would have willingly placed himself between someone else and a bullet, and I will not allow that to happen because of my mistakes," She narrowed her eyes at him. "Much less because of _yours_,"

"_My_ mistakes?"

Oh, she fucking went there?

Well, two could play that game.

"We're in this mess because of _you_ and _your_ stupid fixation with improving humanity's so-called '_flaws'_!" He held up his fingers as air quotes at the mentioned of 'flaws'. "You were so into it that you even kidnapped homeless, _innocent_, people in order to satiate your goddamn curiosity." Eddie could feel his chest swell with anger as he thought back to what he had seen back at that lab; back at those cells. Maria. What kind of hell had she gone through because of the very woman that stood in front of her?

Why the hell did he even consider the possibility that there was anything human beneath that exterior of hers?

He noticed how his words seemed to have an effect on her; her pupils shrank slightly and her shoulders stiffened as they processed his words.

_Good_.

"You probably enjoyed the view, didn't you?" he asked sardonically. "Seeing those poor people suffer like animals. You're a doctor; you're a valuable member of society, you're probably rich too, so seeing people like _them_ in such pain surely didn't mean anything to you, did it? Because they were too '_flawed'_ to be _fixed_. You slept well that night, right?"

"_**That's not true,"**_

Eddie knew he was in too deep, but everything crashed onto him at once. All the anger; the sadness; the frustration; the despair; the fear. Without even thinking, he continued like there was nothing stopping him, which there wasn't. "Just admit it, alright? You told me that you didn't mean for anything that happened to Maria or Skirth, but that's just _bullshit_. You didn't care about those people, and you sure as hell don't care for Dan. You just use him for your own gain, just like you use everyone else. To you, that's just _convenient_. You don't have the ability to feel love for anyone but yourself, and you live off others to survive. You're just – You're just a – "

"_**DON'T SAY IT!"**_

And he didn't. When he was done, Eddie discovered that he was completely drained of air. His lungs were vacuumed and in desperate of oxygen, and he didn't waste time providing it with it. As soon as he did catch his breath, he regained his full stature and waited for some kind of reprimand from her part. He expected a slap or a punch straight to the face; he expected a bible filled with reasons as to why she was guiltless in this ordeal; he expected _something_. Anything at all. Hell, he _wanted_ to hear something from her.

But there was nothing.

He looked up, expecting an expression that indicated anger or sadness on her part, but her face was entirely void of anything. Her green eyes just looked at him, unreadable and blank, like the eyes of a porcelain doll. Her body was still and unmoving, like a mannequin doll on display. For a second, he thought that he had broken her cognitive function with his words, but that was until she opened her mouth and simply asked monotonously, "What did Dr. Lewis say?"

That was _it_?

Suddenly, Eddie recalled the conversation and did his best to compose himself. "We need to get out of here," he explained. "They've found out where we are,"

Hearing this, she stiffened slightly again, though less than before. "Did they do anything to him?"

Eddie shook his head. "No, though I don't see how that would be any of _your_ concern,"

As he saw her prepare to say something, the sound of a loud _BANG!_ caught his ears before the windows behind them shattered to a thousand pieces.


	29. Chapter 29 - Six Feet Under

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom**

**Additional art will be posted on my DeviantArt account: X-KuroShiro-X**

**As always, read, review and enjoy**

* * *

**_Chapter 29 - Six Feet Under_**

* * *

**_March 5th, 1999_**

_Evelyn found God carved in the wood; the dove and the son, at the very least. They were looking at her, prestigious and privileged from where they were engraved into the oak walls, their eyes penetrating through hers as though with the intent to kill. This was not the first time she had seen such eyes staring disparagingly down at her, like a child being scolded for doing something unreasonable. _

_In this case, it was the divine that was her executor – her punisher. This was her wrongdoing, and she knew it as well. God had never had a prominent role in her life, as much as her grandmother tried to force it upon her, but there was no mistake of the fact that it had left a lingering sense of shame upon her being. Even without being reminded of it, she knew that it was wrong. So, so wrong._

_But she didn't care. Even though every fiber in her biological being went against, her mind was set in stone._

_With whatever strength her thin arms possessed, she pushed through the door and into the smoke-filled building, her lungs basking in what little remained of fresh oxygen in them before the pollutant of smoke swiftly usurped what had previously been stored in them. She had read someplace that inhaling smoke for long periods of time could have serious consequences on the body's respiratory system, and if there was one thing she was not intent on doing, it was to trigger another asthma attack. She neither had her inhaler with her nor the time to dwell on that kind of nonsense given the circumstances._

"_**[XXXXXX]**__!" she called into the smoke-filled abyss which was the orphanage, her eyes scanning across the corridors as she searched for some sign of life amidst the chaos. Perhaps he was on the second floor, trapped beneath a bookshelf that had fallen on top of him. The whole place was going down in flames, hard, making every step she took a risky one. Still, she would have to be swift if she wanted to get out of there alive, and preferably not alone._

_Evelyn covered her mouth with the sleeve of her elbow and slowly stepped inside, weighing each step carefully before proceeding further inside. She could vaguely hear the sirens calling from __outside__ out to whoever remained inside to come out, only to be met with silence. Impending, horrendous, excruciating silence. _

_If she got out of there alive, her mother would kill her. Evelyn couldn't tell which was worse; being crushed to death by a collapsing building, or facing her mother's wrath._

_She'd cross that bridge when she got there._

_A loud bang suddenly rang through the empty space, and vibrations resonated through the floor to such an extent that her knees buckled beneath her weight. Everything around her shook as though an earthquake was to blame, but this was not the cause of seismic disruptions. _

_With barely any usable air left to fuel her lungs, Evelyn crawled back up to her feet and resumed with her search. The air was scarcely penetrable, but she was adamant in her attempt to make it through. Forcing her lungs to expand large enough to take a deep breath, she called out again, hoarsely, "__**[XXXXXX]**__!". There was no response._

_She pushed through the corridor, quick and partially lucky enough to avoid running into any collateral damage. It could have been credited to her small size and light weight, but she wasn't ready to conclude that for certain until she was out of there. She could feel the heat of the nearby flames graze and moderately burn her, but not enough to leave any physical damage._

_When she turned the corner, she could vaguely spot someone walking away in the hallway, their back to her. The smoke fogged her vision and produced an intolerable headache for her to endure, but upon seeing someone there, alive, her mind instantly numbed the pain and she was able to concentrate again. _

"_Hello!" she shouted out, coughing as the smoke invaded her lungs again. Tears filled the edges of her eyes. "Is anyone there?" She believed that she had called out loudly enough for the person to hear her and turn around, but she was surprised to see them still walking as if they didn't have a care in the world; the flames and the danger was a non-existent threat to them._

_Did she dare sprint after them, past all the danger in order to reach for someone who didn't seem like they had the mentality of a survivalist? If would be foolishness; total stupidity. It was a marvel that darwinism had not come for her. _

"_Hello!" she cried again, making her way forward with as few steps as she could manage. The debris descending from the ceiling above her fell upon her shoulders and on her head in small pieces. The dust that hung in the air was restricting her breathing, and she could already feel her throat tighten. She felt tempted to say a no-no word only her father was allowed to say, and saying it aloud could have consequences. Not physically; her mother wasn't present to reprimand her for vocalizing a foul word. But given the circumstances, she felt that it was justified._

"_Damn it,"_

_The fire continued to spread. Her time there was limited, and she was stuck at a crossroad she knew would end up with either her leaving while she had the chance, or risk her well-being for the sake of someone else. Had she been her brother, she wouldn't have hesitated to act on the latter option; his urge to be a hero was something she both admired and pitied. _

_She wasn't her brother, but she was his sister._

_Sipping one last breath, Evelyn threw her arms forward and began to sprint through the smoke-filled hallway; consequences be damned. Her only regrets were not trying to find a third option, but it was too late to turn back. The distance between here and the obscured individual in front of her shortened, past every fallen bookshelf and fire-consumed object in sight. The heat was practically boiling the external layer of her skin, but she knew that she had to go on. If she turned back now, her chances of surviving would reach the minimal part of the scale which was her life._

_She got closer, and closer, and closer, until…_

_Standing no less than five feet away from Evelyn with his back turned stood __**[XXXXX]**__, but he wasn't alone. There was a woman with him, at such proximity that one might have mistaken her for his mother. The woman stood in front of him, hunched over his considerably smaller figure like a rotten piece of flesh about to be thrown into the garbage disposal post the slaughter-process. The woman was unmoving, but still standing. The closer Evelyn got to them, her heart almost pounding out of her chest, the more she realized that the woman's eyes – albeit open – were utterly lifeless. The woman's pupils were enlarged, taking up almost as much space as the alabaster-colored sclera did. Perhaps the smoke had done something to her sight, but how would that explain her inert stance? Had she passed out from the smoke?_

_Evelyn recognized the woman – she had seen her before. Mrs. Calderon, a live-in helper Evelyn had on countless occasions seen cleaning the floors of the very same hallway in which they were standing. _

_The woman's body suddenly slid onto the floor with a thud, blood seeping out of an open gash in her chest. _

"_You should have seen her face," There was a childish giggle to be heard coming from him. "She was all like 'What have you done?!', but then she just shut up as soon as I poked her with this,"_

_**[XXXXXX]**__ turned to her, his lips slightly parted and spread into a Glasgow-like smile, his left hand clutched around a small but effective kitchen knife that was barely the size of a pen; dripping with blood. His teeth shone perfectly, but there was nothing perfect about him at all. His green eyes were aimed at her – wide and deranged, but perfectly sane nonetheless. His hair was covered in dust and spready over his eyes, but it did not seem to bother him at all. Had there been no context to the circumstances, one might have imagined that he was naught but a mischevious child who had just been able to get away with switching labels on the salt and sugar containers in time to watch some unfortunately oblivious fool drizzle the wrong kind over his cereal. There was no sense of severity to see on him; no sense of horror or guilt. The body next to him almost went unnoticed by him, as if there was nothing there at all._

_Evelyn was silent for what felt like hours, which in reality was but a couple of seconds. She wanted to scream each time her eyes flashed over the woman's body as blood gradually poured out of her wound, with those same lifeless eyes aimed at absolutely nothing. She couldn't move; could barely breathe. She stood there, frozen, not knowing what to comprehend of the situation. _

_Instead, there came nothing but a meek ghost of a whisper. _"_What did you do?"_

_Despite the low volume that came from her voice, he had heard her perfectly well._

"_I gave them a God to believe in," he said with a simple shrug, sounding as though he was being nagged for doing something that was perfectly sensible. "They were always talking about this big guy in the skies. It was so boring that I thought about bringing the skies down on them,"_

_He sounded so casual; so innocent; so careless, like none of the burning damage around them was bothering him in the slightest. The air grew thicker and thicker from all the smoke, but in a matter of moments, that problem seemed to vanish amidst itself. She could barely see him where he stood despite the short distance between them, but she knew he was there. She was perfectly able to tell what it was he was doing. He was still smiling; still eyeing her the same way he had done ever since they first met that day on the concrete after her brother was rushed to the hospital from falling down the tree. He had not changed a bit, and she knew that she had been unbearably stupid for thinking so. _

_She had been so, so, so stupid._

_Anger flooded through her veins and she lurched towards him, grabbed him by the shoulders and clutched as hard as she could. Her nails felt like they were about to pierce through his shirt, and his skin felt like soft paper tissue beneath it. She never had a habit of biting her nails, so it would be fairly easy to graze his skin had she wanted to. She wanted to. She desperately wanted to hurt him. Hurt him like he had heart Mrs. Calderon, whose blood was not soaking the outsoles of her shoes. The liquid was still warm, but not as heated as her immeasurable resentment towards __**him**__._

_But, if she hated him so much, why were tears streaking her cheeks? Why was she crying like a little kid as she held him there, unwilling to let go; unwilling to leave? Why was she acting so stupid?_

"_Why?" she asked, not knowing whether she was asking him or herself. Her eyes failed to meet his, in spite of the close proximity she shared with him. He was warm, warmer than the flames that burned around them in that decomposing building, but that didn't soothe her fear. If anything, it further ignited it, causing it to spread through her core like a rapid wildfire. He was warm, but he was just as cold. His soul, if there truly existed such a concept, was the opposite of everything she assumed it to be._

_His 'soul' was non-existent. As void as a hole in the ground, but ten times as dark. _

_Evelyn did not find God within these walls; she never had. _

_She found the Devil, and she had accommodated him for so long. _

_The walls were falling down. Her walls were descending from the height she had once put them up to. She was waking up to the reality she had denied herself._

_But as she did that, something sharp and cold plunged into her lower abdomen. _

"_**WHy?" **__ He asked as the ashes descended upon them. A soft yet hoarse chuckle resonated through the smoke-filled air, albeit it was accompanied by a burst of underlying laughter that was scarcely audible past its morbid counterpart. __**"BeCAUse I cAN."**_

_God was dead. If He had allowed the Devil to roam the world on his own accord, then there was truly nothing left of the world to be protected._

_She couldn't breathe in a world like that. It suffocated her. It was unbearable._

* * *

_**November 18th, 2011**_

"_Quite a lovely home, wouldn't you say, March?" Jonathan Davis, a fellow resident, had a habit of speaking when it suited him, even at the inconvenience of others. While his remarks didn't earn him any favoritism from their supervisors, it nonetheless proved to be entertaining on the few occasions he actually had anything creative to say. The only reason why she had brought him along to that godforsaken site was that she imagined that his sardonic demeanor would serve as comedic relief in such dreary circumstances, which it surprisingly succeeded at._

_But as amusing as his remarks were, especially considering where they were standing, Evelyn did little to satiate his need for approval. Instead, her eyes were glued to the scenery in front of them with a mixture of aversion and subtle astonishment. The buildings were largely demolished and in ruins, but parts of the orphanage had managed quite well over the years despite the lack of proper maintenance. Ever since it burned down, it was rumored to be haunted; a place where children could dwell on the unimaginable horrors that took place within those walls. _

_Some said that occultists would use the place as a gate to the other dimensions they were trying to summon, while others stated that it was just someplace where the homeless would live as a means to get by in an unbearably cold and unforgiving world._

_In reality, she knew that it was nothing more than an abandoned place where a freak accident occurred, killing those unfortunate enough to have been inside it at the time the misfortune took place. There were no ghosts, nor were there any hauntings. If there were any occult rituals taking place in there, they were wasting their time considerably, for there was nothing even remotely paranormal to find there._

_After a few minutes of deliberate silence, she decided to appeal to Davis' comment regarding the place. "I wouldn't call it home, per se,"_

_He rolled his eyes. "I was being sarcastic, March,"_

"_I wouldn't notice," she said. "You sound the same regardless,"_

"_Or maybe you just suck at telling the difference between sincerity and deception?" he suggested with a playful smirk tugging on his lips. _

_She paid him no mind, but couldn't help but agree with his comment to an extent. "Perhaps,"_

_Davis let it slide and resumed with sharing the same scenery, though with less interest. "The fire shut it all down, right?"_

"_Yes," she confirmed. "There was an error with the heating pipes around the place, resulting in an explosion that subsequently set it all on flames," It was deemed so after experts had evaluated the plausible reasons behind the orphanage's demise. While there were countless other possible explanations behind it, there were few that were just as likely as the one she just mentioned._

_Davis whistled. "Somebody sure did their research. I remembered that it was a huge deal back in the days. A lot of people died. Only a girl survived, they said. Manuela Calderon, I think her name was. Poor girl lost her mother in all that hell, literally,"_

"_Someone sure did their research," she mimicked him. _

"_Still, I think it's all bullshit,"_

_His sudden response caught her off-guard, mainly because it sounded so un-Davis-like. "What is bullshit?"_

_He gestured towards the building like a tour-guide. "Here you see a site where every single kid and staff member except one died. Not a single survivor otherwise, even though there were emergency exits located throughout the entire building. The firemen even said that the doors were locked,"_

_She narrowed her eyes. "Your point?"_

"_It's like someone planned this. They say that the fire started in the cafeteria, where almost everyone was. Sure sounds convenient that it was then that the fire began,"_

"_Could be something produced from the kitchens," she suggested, trying to find reasonable contradictions to match his hypothesizes. "Maybe an oven or something went haywire?"_

"_Still don't buy it," Davis firmly stated. "They also say that they found that Calderon woman and some other woman from the disciplinary administration with strange wounds that were visible even past all those charred parts of their bodies,"_

_Evelyn didn't like how inquisitive he was starting to become; it was like he was speaking from experience, and as far as she knew, Davis was from North Carolina. An immense feeling of disdain began to manifest in her chest as she continued to hear of his supposed claims and theories. Sherlock Holmes would have shaken his head in shame, but mutually with appreciation and admiration as well. As did she._

"_What happened was but an accident," she cut him in the middle of his next rant, shutting him successfully before she glanced back at the ruins one last time before making her way to the gate. "What is buried is supposed to remain there,"_

"_The past is dead and buried, but buried things have a way of making it back to the surface when you least expect them to," Davis said, making her scoff as she recalled those exact same words from someplace else._

"_Quoting Dan Simmons, are we?" she asked and paused briefly in her tracks, finding the circumstances as amusing as they were unwanted. "What is buried is going to remain underground,"_

"_And if it doesn't?" he asked, walking up to her side with a particularly interesting smirk on his lips. "What if what is buried doesn't want to stay there?"_

_"You get a bigger shovel,"_

"_Is that so?"_

"_It is,"_

"_But what if it keeps coming back?"_

_At that point, she was glaring bitterly at him. "Then you leave, and make sure that it doesn't find you,"_

"_So that's your solution to things, March," It wasn't a question. "You run from them? Escape?"_

_Cowardice? Her father would have called it exactly that. "I have no interest in chasing after ghosts, nor do I intend on having them run after me," _

"_You can't control things as much as you would want them to," Davis said solemnly. "If they do come, and they don't stop, then there is little you can do to shake them off."_

_She finally met his gaze and a mutual sense of both aversion and interest was shared between them. Two residents on the opposite side of the scales, but at the same time equals. "Then what do you suggest there is to be done?"_

_At the sound of this, Davis released an all-too-familiar chuckle. "What to do, what to do, that's easy. You face it,"_

_His answer disappointed her. "That's your solution? Be a hero and go against the current?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. _

"_Isn't that the only thing you can do?" he inquired, sounding genuinely surprised by her lack of satisfaction. "Face it and get on with your life?"_

_Her face twisted into a snarl that had even him backing off a few steps. "I have no intention to face what I left behind," she said and started walking back to the gate. "I want it to stay beneath the surface, held down, suffocated, and forever incapacitated and contained." She unconsciously placed a hand on the side of her abdomen, a sharp sting echoing through her skin and producing chills that had nothing to do with the decreasing temperature around her. "I want it dead and gone, no matter the cost. The past is dead and buried, and that's how I intend on keeping it."_

_Like a Devil in the dark abyss which was Hell, she wanted it to stay there._

_As she passed through the open gate, the name of the abandoned place came into view, and it was the last time she read it._

"_**SAINT ESTES HOME FOR BOYS"**_

* * *

The force of the explosion sent her plunging to the floor with dissembling debris, thousands of pieces of glass shards, and furniture raining down upon her like meteors from the skies to the extent that even the dinosaurs would have been envious. She kept her head low and shielded it with her arms, keeping her breath contained within her lungs as she internally hoped that nothing would strike her and send her halfway across the room.

Around her, there was chaos. Everything was destroyed; in pieces; dust. A fire had erupted as a subsequent consequence of the explosion that had taken place so close to the shop outside, and there was screaming and shouting heard from the outside. Not commanding ones; uninvolved witnesses who were attempting their best to contribute to the decline of the 'accident'. Their words were incoherent and blurry, as a ringing started to resonate through her eardrums.

Her heart felt unbearably tight within that cage which was her chest; threatening to burst through her bones and make a brutal exit in a vast attempt to be freed of its turmoil. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe at all. The dust in the air, the chaos around her, the destruction, the death. It was like a plague that had come to deprive her of what little remained of her self-restraint and composure, starting with her oxygen levels. Her heart pace began to quicken, and her sense of rationality was starting to crumble beneath the weight of absolutely everything.

Dark spots began to appear in her vision, and she began to hyperventilate, but each breath was brief and barely provided her lungs with enough air to function properly. _No, damnit! Not now! There wasn't any time!_

As she tried to compose herself, Evelyn glanced around in what was once a small albeit comfortable little ship in which she and Mr. Brock had found their temporary haven. There was almost nothing left to identify it; there was just dust and broken pieces of furniture spewed around, as though a monster had wreaked havoc in an attempt to satiate its need for obliteration. The fire that had begun to spread was slowly claiming what little of inflammable material there was in the shop, including the wooden material in the kitchen. Though it was graduate, there was no doubt that it could escalate to something far more dangerous given enough time.

Treece had found them, and he would continue to do it until there was no place left to hide. The Life Foundation had eyes and ears everywhere in the city and, hell, the entire planet as well. The world was their body, and Evelyn was just a virus that was in need of being exterminated; a parasite. They wouldn't stop looking for them, until they had what they were looking for. Then, they would continue killing people, just like they had before. They would kill innocent people, torture them, experiment on them like guinea pigs in cages for the sake of progress. Humanity was a means to an end, and she had contributed to this.

_**This was her fault. Her fault. Her fault. Her fault. Her fault. Her fault. Her fault. Her fault. IT WAS HER FUCKING FAULT!**_

She had let them die without moving a muscle to help.

Beads of sweat were dripping from her forehead and all sounds in the background faded into distant ringing. She desperately clutched her hands around her neck, not knowing whether to further suffocate herself or to try and stabilize her condition.

'_Are you having another asthma attack?"_'

"I don't – I don't know," she breathed out, her voice hoarse and incoherent as if she had spent a large portion of her life screaming. Wheezing began to protrude from her throat as she heaved her chest, causing it to ache painfully for each of the inhales. Was this was dying truly felt like? In that case, she would have rather endured another bullet to the abdomen.

'_It's alright, just try to relax, alright,'_

"It's my fault,"

'_Not all of it. You wanted to help people, right?'_

Help them? Was that what she ended up doing? She had deliberately participated in the experiments, and even when a gun was aimed at her head, she continued to serve. Like an obedient dog.

"I couldn't – I couldn't save them," She gnashed her teeth together, her hands dropping from her neck and down to her arms, hugging her self tightly as if her life depended on it. The corners of her eyes began to sting. "I let them die,"

'_If you don't get up, you will join them too. Is that what you want? To die? To be buried? Forgotten? Will you give that a go again? Let them die in vain?'_

Dying. It was an unbearably easy thing to commit oneself to. All it took was a couple of pills; a rope; a bullet. Doing it was in itself an easy thing to do, but that also meant leaving behind the mess that you created. A bloody legacy to add to your own name at the conclusion of your life. Evelyn could care less about what kind of a name she left behind after her inevitable demise; she had no children, no husband, nor anyone she deemed close enough to share information about her life. Her parents no longer knew the child they raised, and her colleagues didn't know more than she allowed them to know of. There was nothing for her to leave behind but death. This was her judgment.

'_Evie, just breathe, alright? You're not dying now. You're gonna live,'_

"What if … I don't want to?"

'_You're honestly gonna give up now when you've gotten so far?'_

Was she going to do it?

"I'm … scared," she admitted, feeling her voice gradually returning to her. "I'm so scared,"

'_I know, but you're not alone,'_

For the first time in what felt like forever, Evelyn took a deep and successful breath, filling her lungs with air to the brink of ecstasy. Her heart rate began to decline and her fingers retracted themselves from her arms. It would undoubtedly leave bruises behind on her skin, but she would cross that bridge when she got there. She wasn't going to die. Not now.

"MARCH!"

Evelyn bolted up upon hearing her name, leaning onto the fallen table next to her for support. The demolition around her came to focus, as did all the sounds and the heat from the fire. She could find her own again, acknowledge her surroundings, perceive the ordeal in which she stood surrounded by. The reality had sunk in, and she wanted to stay there.

She wanted to live.

From behind the counter, which was surprisingly well-protected from the flames and the debris, Mr. Brock emerged, seemingly unharmed and thriving. Without wasting time, Evelyn held her breath sprinted across the flame-consumed ruins without inhaling too much of the smoke-induced air. As Mr. Brock acknowledged her approach, his first instinct was to jump over the counter in time to reach her.

"Fuck, you're actually alive," He said triumphantly, a smile threatening to spread across his lips despite everything.

Albeit she wouldn't admit it, seeing him there alive as well provided Evelyn with a sense of relief she had seldom experienced as of recently.

She grabbed him by the sleeve of his right arm, stared him straight in the eyes, and said. "Run,"

It was time for the buried to resurface, and for the resurfaced to be confronted.

The past was coming back, and there was no way to avoid it anymore.

* * *

_Evelyn Rachel March_**  
DOB: **_November 13__th__, 1989_**  
Place of Birth:**_ Brooklyn, NY  
_**Nationality:** _American_

**Board Certified Speciality:** _Medical Oncology and Radiotherapy (2012)_

**Current Appointment:  
**_\- San Francisco General Hospital, Oncology Department (Since 2014)  
_

**Registered Family:  
**_\- Thomas March – Father (b. 1962)  
\- Rose Fredrikson – Mother (b. 1965)  
\- David March – Brother (b. 1986 – d. 2011)_

_Edward Charles Allan Brock  
_**DOB: **_April 22__nd__, 1984_**  
Place of Birth:**_ San Francisco, CA  
_**Nationality:** _American_

**Board Certified Speciality:** _Investigative Journalism (2008)_

**Current Appointment:  
**_\- [Individual Currently Lacks Employment]  
_

**Registered Family:  
****\- **_Carl Brock - Father (b. 1951)  
\- Jamie Brock - Mother (b. 1956 – d. 1984) _

Marcus Simms let his eyes drift over the files with a moderate degree of interest. A doctor and an ex-journalist, both of whom were hosts, as it turned out. If Axelsons' reports were accurate, then it could mean that the plans were already progressing at a much faster pace than they had initially assumed; much faster.

Getting a hold of the personal files had been an easy task, but to understand these individuals were another thing. They were not part of the Life Foundation (though the doctor's relationship with them was debatable), and still, their bodies seemed to collaborate with the alien lifeforms. Simms had anticipated that civilians like them would have done the most reasonable thing to get help from a hospital (As useless as it would have been), but they both seemed intent on simply escaping while they had the chance at doing so.

Either they were fools, or they already knew more of the organisms than information from six months of work at the Life Foundation could ever hope to provide with.

"These are the hosts," he spoke into his earpiece as he evaluated the files further, looking over the pictures that accommodated them. The picture of a young woman, hardly older than in her twenties, with sharp eyes and a small but distinctive cut over her right eyebrow. The picture of a man, considerably exhausted and looking as though sleep was not a privilege he had at his disposal.

"_That's them,"_ Axelson confirmed on the other line. _"They're the first ones to survive contact with the organisms. Drake's currently looking for them through the city. Might be a while until I'm done with the job, Chief,"_

"How long?"

"_Not too long. March and Brock have successfully managed to evade the LF thus far. They're resilient; determined. They might make excellent additions,"_

Simms' lips changed into a subtle snarl as he listened to this indifference. "Don't speak of them like guinea pigs, Axelson," he warned. "We're not the Life Foundation. We're not like Drake. Our objective is to protect humanity, not to exploit it,"

"_The world is no playground, Chief. We need what we can get if we want this to succeed,"_

As much as he loathed to admit it, Axelson did have a smidgen of truth in his words. The world was no playground, but to be willing to give up their humanity for the sake of preserving it? If that wasn't a paradox, then he didn't know what was.

Simms sighed. "Did you get the damn specimen?"

"_Just like you ordered, although we might need to pull a Frankenstein on this one,"_

"It will be done. For now, you are dismissed,"

"_Yes, sir,"_

The earpiece went quiet on the other side.


	30. Chapter 30 - Deal with the Devil UPDATED

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom**

**A/N: Hello, guys! I'm back, and this time with an extra-long chapter to mark the new year with, and the new decade. Of course, in spite of some assassinations, forest fires, and other god-forsaken, disastrous events that have occurred, we'll continue and hope that the rest doesn't go straight to shit.**

**Also, I have several things I need to note before you read:**

**1\. I recently watched the _Morbius_ trailer, and I've actually grown quite interested in the lore around it. So much, in fact, that I might even consider writing a spin-off that revolves around that movie. However, so far, it's only a thought, but interesting nonetheless. If the events are closely related to _Venom_, then the chances are quite high that I might make something up about it. Only time will tell, though, as well as how the movie turns out.**

**2\. I've heard rumors that _Venom 2_ will also take place at St. Estes, the orphanage where yours truly psychotic red-head grew up, and like mentioned in the earlier chapter, it will also have a prominent place later in the story.**

**_CHAPTER_ **_**UPDATED: 01.20.20 - Some significant things were edited, so I highly recommend that you read through the chapter again.**_

**Please read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 30: A Deal with the Devil**

* * *

The entire place was going down hard; the heavens were punishing the humans for their sins by having fire reign from the skies. The scorching heat was suffocating them, trapping air within their lungs that had no way to leave or arrive. Pieces of debris from the ceiling accompanied this, falling in various sizes and with at various paces; some were scarcely larger than gravel at the side of the road, while others were threatening to burst through the floor upon arrival.

Eddie shielded his face in his elbow as he searched for a way to get past the flames that were rapidly spreading around them. For some unfathomable reason he could not put into words, the sight of the orange blazes filled him with dread to the point where just looking at them for long sent shivers up and down his spine, in spite of the head. _"Don't go near them, don't go near them, don't go near them,"_ he continuously repeated to himself as he carefully stepped across the floor, making sure to weigh his steps before making a go for it.

The sound of vehement coughing from next to him forced the ex-journalist to shift around and look at March, whose face was considerably paler than before. Her state of consciousness could be discussed, but the moment he intended to address the issue, he had to quickly catch her before she fell to the ground in a fit of gags. Her wheezes sounded like they were claiming her state of self-awareness for themselves because when he looked into her dazed eyes, all he could see was a woman's excellent resemblance to a corpse.

"Hey, March! –_ugh!_ \- Stay-Stay with me!" Eddie forced through his own smoke-filled throat as he himself began to struggle to breathe. He had only experienced a fire like this once, back when he used to live with Anne and accidentally forgot his tater-tots in the oven, but it was nothing compared to this bonfire of a place.

March seemed to come back around upon the sound of her name, but not fully. Her eyes remained distant, but Eddie could tell that they were trying their best to stay alert. She placed a hand on top of his shoulder, and he could feel the vibrations as her fingers trembled against his hoodie. "Is there – Is there an exit?" she asked tightly, clutching tighter onto him as she attempted to regain her balance, but to little avail. She leaned onto him for support; something Eddie could easily tell would have seriously wounded her pride had she been stable.

He searched around the place and tried to back further away from the flames, though even that started to become a challenge in itself. The orange and red lights were spreading so quickly that it almost seemed like a race between the two of them. He held onto the doctor with his arms wrapped around her waist in an attempt to keep her from falling to the floor.

"_**WE NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE!"**_

"YEAH, NO FUCKING SHIT!" Eddie bellowed. "WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE I'M TRYING HERE?"

The voice seemed to ponder for a second before something struck it like an epiphany. _**"OVER THERE! THERE'S AN EXIT, BY THE WINDOW!"**_

And true enough, Eddie spotted a child-sized hole next to where the window used to be, although there were objects standing in their path that could reduce their chances of getting there considerably. Some overthrown furniture and other pieces of the wreckage, but they didn't completely hinder their path. As long as he was quick about it, maybe he could get there in time to force both of them through it, one at a time?

Without a moment to lose, Eddie hastily lifted March's body in his arms, firstly noticing how light she was to carry. He glanced down at her for a brief moment and noticed that her eyes were just barely open, green like the field of grass he used to play soccer on as a kid. Snapping out of his thoughts, he shook his head and hurried up, successfully dodging every debris that threatened to fall down upon them until they reached their escape route. However, as he was about to tell her to get through it and make a run for the street, there was a moment where everything around him seemed to fall deathly silent. He only managed to spare a glance up at the ceiling before he came to the quick realization that the entirety of the shop was crashing down on them.

"_Shi–_"

* * *

Treece had been in the army, toured to Afghanistan twice and returned each time with new scars to confirm his participation, and he had contributed to the reduction of rivaling businesses that threatened the LF's position on the social and economic ladder. His life was riddled with violence and ordeals; filled with what most pussies wouldn't even dare to look at, which suited him just fine. He wouldn't describe himself as a violent individual, but he wouldn't hesitate to use it as a means to an end in order to finish his job. That's the way of life, after all, though it was seldom personal.

Standing in front of the blazing shop that had previously inhabited his targets, however, _did_ feel personal. Watching the heated flames tear down the good-for-nothing little shop was absolutely exhilarating, though his composed demeanor did not allow it to come to view. A slight tug on the corner of his lips was as far as he was willing to in terms of expressiveness, which was more than he usually allowed to come to view. Whether it was joy that filled his body or a sense of satisfaction, all that he was certain of what that he had done what was beneficial for both himself and the LF.

Both the journalist and the doctor were head; their charred carcasses could be located someplace in the soon-to-be-demolished building whose roof just gave in to the infernal pressures and succumb to debris. Their skin would be melted to their bones, their ashes spread across the floors like filth. Smoke emitted from what used to be the rooftop, and the signs that spelled the shitty shop's name fell at an equal pace to the ground. There came no sounds from the inside with the exception of the building collapsing and the pieces gashing together, which somewhat disappointed him, as it would have provided to more evidence to support the claim that the targets were deceased.

Most of the witnesses of the explosion had scrammed like frightened kittens, and the rest of Treece's colleagues were spread around the district, eyes everywhere in search of their targets. It made it easy to get easy access to the view; a VIP seat for him to enjoy.

Treece took a cautious step closer to the furnace but did close enough to feel the warmth tingle him. He squinted his eyes and searched for some sign of life amongst the dancing flames, almost hoping for something to happen that would contradict his conclusion. While his worries had now been put to rest with the death of the two individuals who were responsible for his ordeal in the first place, Treece had to admit that there was something unbearably easy in this. Too easy, like shooting a deer that had been sleeping on the ground prior to its demise.

Treece could have sworn that they would have been harder to kill, with the symbiotes and everything. Granted, they were vulnerable to the extreme heat that the flames were more than obliged to provide, but even this was dull by his standards. Back in the days when he was stationed in Afghanistan, he was always obligated to check the bodies for any signs of life, whether they were still moving or not. But in this case, there were no bodies to inspect, and that promptly stripped him of any sense of relief that may have been surging through his body.

"Boss, are we ready to report back to Mr. Drake?" One of his subordinates questioned, his left eye had swelled around considerably and hardly seemed useable anymore. His loyalty to his boss was almost admirable, if not foolish. Whether it was sentiment that kept him intact with the brutal organization or fear of being disposed of, no one could care any less.

"In a moment," Treece mumbled aggravatingly without looking away from the burning spectacle in front of him. The furnace kept on raging like it had been hell-sent; a demon from the pits of Pandemonium wreaking havoc all around him with no other motive than to cause as much destruction as possible. While Treece was never one for Milton, much less literature in general, there was a feeling of respect he harbored for ink on paper. Whether the circumstances would allow him to make such a comparison, he deemed it appropriate enough.

"Boss," said the subordinate again as he dared take a step forward to approach. "Weren't we supposed to bring the bugs back alive?" Fear reeked off of him like the stench from a skunk. "W-What will Mr. Drake say?"

Now, that was another ordeal he would have to deal with. Initially, he had anticipated that the bugs would be able to flee the wreckage with relative ease, but it seemed that he had overestimated their usefulness. If they were incapable of surviving a simple drone-attack, then what good were they in the real, cruel world? That didn't do him much good now that they were gone and blown into the wind like dust. But killing that bitch and the journalist, maybe it would be worth enduring Drake's lashing?

As Treece was about to answer, he could hear it. The sound of low growl; an animal so starved of sustenance that the mere sight of anything edible could send it into a state of hysteria. He had heard similar sounds in the past, back when he used to go poaching for fun in his youth. The animals would chase after him, and he would let them do so with a smile on his face before successfully taking them down with just a bullet.

This time, however, the animal was neither starved, and one bullet was apparently not enough to take it down. This was the most dangerous species on the planet, and while he had already killed thousands of them with less than a bullet, he knew that this one was of the kind that had to be taken down with stealth rather than with brute force, which wasn't something he was accustomed to.

His lips spread into a shit-eating grin as he watched what looked like a black shadow emit from a gap in the demolished building. It was so quick that you could barely see it at first, but he knew it was there, and he knew that it would try to run. It was fine for him; his interest was caught in the web like a fly, but he had nothing against watching the predator enclose itself to, however, differed, as the symbiote was evidently avoiding confrontation above all, and it only further exhilarated Treece now that he was in the Game.

He watched as the black thing landed on top of his car and crushed the roof of it with minimal effort, only to proceed and do the same to the majority of them before it took off into the direction which led to the center of the city. Its pace was like that of a frightened antelope, but only in terms of reaction. While he could not fully make out the thing's shape, its size was considerably larger than that of a human, and Treece could vaguely make out something carried in its arms, which the thing was shielding as though it was its most priced possession.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Treece muttered out to himself as he watched it disappear further into the distance. Deciding not to waste any more time, Treece quickly sprinted towards the car, sparing his ghost of a subordinate but a moment's notice before he barked the orders at him and forced him to get into the driver's seat. They needed to move quickly.

The Game was on.

"_That is all that is currently know about the Sacramento Killings that have been going on recently. Onto more local news, there seems to have been some kind of explosion downtown in the Richmond District. Countless witnesses have reported seeing the beloved "Buddy's Shop" engulfed in flames, and while the manager of the fine establishment is unreachable at the moment, Mr. Jim Rodriguez, who was working the night-shift there by the time the accident occurred, shared with us what happened,"_

Dan was on the edge of his seat the entire time his ears were glued to the news, listening intently as the boy spoke of what happened. While he was relieved that no one was seriously hurt, he couldn't rid himself of the tight feeling in his stomach that had been developing ever since those guys from the Life Foundation first showed up. This seemed too strange to be a mere coincidence, and the lack of received phone-calls from Evelyn and Eddie alike did little to debunk his suspicions.

Frank suddenly entered the empty cafeteria, his usual cup of coffee in hand as he sat down next to Dan with his eyes aimed towards the television. Dan would have greeted him had he not been so invested in the news as he was, and Frank was quick to notice the obsession his colleague had for the screen.

"I think you'll break the screen soon, Dan," Frank commented with the same sardonic humor that always accompanied his words. "You're looking at it too hard,"

Dan didn't answer. He was leaned forward in his seat, his back bent into a rather uncomfortable position that he barely noticed any more than he did his colleague. The news continued on like before, and the more he listened, the more he felt his nerves crumble beneath the pressure of fear and concern for his friends, but the last straw came when the reporter said one crucial thing,

"_We were also informed that, in the midst of the accident, a group of dark-dressed men could be seen parked outside of the burning building, but doing absolutely nothing to help. Due to their calm attitudes, some initially assumed that it was all just some kind of prank or stageplay, but nothing has ever been reported about there being planned any filmings,"_

The moment the one he recalled as Roland Treece appeared on the screen with his face aimed towards the wreckage, Dan jumped to his feet, catching Frank off-guard to the extent where he spilled a couple of drops of his coffee on the floor.

"Dan, what's going on?"

"I need to make a call,"

And with that, he walked away from the cafeteria, leaving Frank alone with a look of bewilderment on his face and a soft and almost inaudible "_What the actual fuck_?" could be heard slipping from his lips.

* * *

She could sense heavy thuds come and go in almost a rhythmic sense, like a giant walking across the pavement with a hundred pounds in weight stacked on each of his shoulders. Along with it, she felt her body tremble slightly for each time she sensed the steps, she could feel the wind brush past her face and send strands of her hair going in every direction, and the feeling of fresh air filling her lungs came in the form of a euphoric sensation; as though she had been granted something she had long craved for but never been able to reach for.

Evelyn stirred slightly as consciousness returned to her, along with an unbearable headache that reminded her more of a nasty hangover than anything else. While she had never been a heavy drinker nor someone who indulged herself on every whim, there had been instances where she had granted her need for escapism some liberty over her usual thoughtfulness. This could easily compare to said instances, while it had been produced during different circumstances. Her throat was sore and tight, but it was easier to breathe now than it had been earlier.

As her eyes partially regained their functions and the perception of her surroundings returned gradually developed, she was immediately met with the sight of San Francisco from a distance, and her eyes widened ever-so-slightly. The city's lights were flickering like stars in the night sky, and she could vaguely listen to the sound of cars driving and hooting erupting from there. Everything seemed so small in comparison, like little ants in an advanced hive that had somehow gained an anthropomorphized sentience of their own.

She found herself captivated with what she saw; mesmerized like she was a child in a planetarium. In her state of dizziness, Evelyn reached forward in a futile attempt to catch the lights in her palm, wishing to feel the warmth she imagined they could provide her cold hands with. They seemed so close, but each time she clenched her fingers together in an effort to catch them, all she was left with was the feeling of nothingness occupying her grip.

As she lowered her hand again, giving up on her attempt to catch the lights, her fingers grazed against something soft, but oddly elastic; like the material of which training clothes often consisted of, only that in this case, there was something else to it. Whatever her hand laid on top of, it seemed to melt against her touch, like adding pressure to a piece of uncooked dough. The more she felt her way across the surface of it, the more she began to question senses, and the more her sense of self returned to her.

Blinking, her eyes fell down upon the sight of utter blackness, like coal from a furnace that had just been recently put out. When she tried to move, she came to the realization that she was being held in a firm grip around her waist, which was effectively keeping her from falling down. Only then did she discover that the reason why the city seemed so small was that she positioned close to the edge of a considerably tall building; the height would be enough to kill her on impact should she descend with no safety measures whatsoever.

The moment that came into mind, she was quick to get to her senses and try to get as far away from the edge as possible. A sense of dread surged through her as the heights conjured up a fear she had not experienced since childhood. The last time she was at a height seemingly this prominent, she had been in primary school and had climbed to far up a tree in order to retrieve her teddy bear which someone threw up there. When she managed to climb up and get there, she was unable to get down again. She had almost forgotten that entirely until the fall less than a few feet away from her brought it back into mind.

The grip around her, however, served as an obstacle in her attempt to back off. Evelyn could feel the pressure around her waist tighten ever-so-slightly, and her ribs suffered as a consequence of it, though not enough to hurt her. In hindsight, Evelyn discovered that she was looking down the back of her captor, and their arms were around her as though losing her would be fatal. Their knees were bent down to a crouching position, and one of them served as something she could rest her own feet at.

"I would prefer to stand on my own," she said without raising her voice, weighing her words carefully with the knowledge that any wrong sentence could potentially cause her more troubles than she would prefer. Still, as the hold around her lessened by just a few inches, she hastily let her feet hit the ground and took quite a number of steps back. She didn't realize she had been holding her breath until she physically felt her lungs expand within her ribcage.

Only when she had put some distance between them did she see him, or rather, _it_.

The second she stopped backing away, the thing got up to its full stance (_6 ft? 8"5 ft? 9 ft?_) and towered over her like a giant in comparison. The blackness which was its skin seemed to glisten in the lights from the city, and its teeth shone like the knives she kept back in her cupboard at home. By human standards, it was muscular; inhumanly so, but its eyes struck her as the most morbid attribute of all. It possessed no pupils, just pure white, yet it stared down at her with twice as much attentiveness as a normal human would have been capable of.

But this wasn't a human; not human in the slightest. It was the furthest thing from it, and there was a damn good reason why that was. It was a killer; while more docile in comparison to the kind that currently circled through her own system, it was still a killer nonetheless. Though last time she saw it, it had not been gentle in the slightest. The scratches around her neck could vouch for their previous encounter.

"So," she said warily. "This is what you are?"

While its alabaster-colored eyes were still aimed at her, indicating that she had its attention at her disposal, it did not respond at first. The symbiote seemed to ponder at her question, with its mouth seemingly in a state of permanent bliss where its teeth shone from the lights of the city. Evelyn did not find any solace in that smile, though it had nothing to do with its predatory teeth. If anything, it had more to do with the fact that it looked too familiar for her liking. A Glasgow-like grin that could make even the Devil grow sick of sin.

Suddenly, it bent down slightly to inspect her, its face inches away from hers. Evelyn stiffened as she was met with the **"We remember your name,"**

So it did speak? While she recalled listening to its voice previously at the LF's HQ, there had been a more feminine touch to its vocals, as though it had mimicked those of its host. This time, its vocals were deep, and there was no doubt that there was a sense of familiarity accompanying them. Mr. Brock's own voice had somehow merged with the symbiotes, producing an amalgamation that would make people think twice about suspecting that there was a disgraced journalist beneath that thick exterior.

it was certainly too close for her comfort, it had done nothing thus far. Should 'fate' prove itself entertaining, however, the creature would have consumed her like she was some kind of fancy appetizer, or just another regular human for that matter. Its appetite was not restricted to 'standard foods', which was what surprised her somewhat. If it did not intend to feast on her now that she was at its disposal, so what were its intentions?

"_**Evelyn March**_**,"** It spoke of her name as a subject would pronounce the name of their monarch, raising their hand slightly and gripping her face with it. Evelyn momentarily broke out of her unmoving stance and quickly attempted to move out of its grip, but to no avail. Her jaw was forced shut and her chin was kept in a firm hold, which promptly forced the rest of her body to comply. The hand was warm to the touch, soft beneath her skin, but unsurprisingly threatening. It was large enough to nearly circle the entirety of her head, if not all the way to the occiput had it been desired. Had it tightened its grip around her skull, even if just a little bit, it would most likely have crushed her cranium to dust.

But it didn't.

"**Are you unharmed?"**

Its question was most … unexpected. It would be the last thing anyone would expect from an extraterrestrial organism that had quite a reputation for consuming its hosts from the inside-out. While this one had not been as vigorous in terms of appetite when compared to its brethren, the fact that it was from the same species put Evelyn's sense of security on hold. Instead of answering at first, she kept quiet. Whether it was wariness that kept her from vocalizing her thoughts or the ordinary lack of interest to engage in a conversation unless it suited her, the outcome did not change.

Subsequently, she could sense that the symbiote was growing impatient with her lack of response, as its eyes twitched ever-so-slightly and its head tilted to the side with ambiguous uncertainty. Its grip around her head loosened enough to grant her jaw the ability to move freely again. **"I sincerely doubt Lasher has muted you just like themselves, so **_**speak**_**,"**

Now, this piqued her interest to the extent where she was on the verge of vocalizing it. After some deliberation with herself, she decided that it would be appropriate to speak, if only enough to get her suspicions confirmed. Placing her hands around the symbiote's wrist, she forced her head out of its hold and readjusted her neck, feeling the pressure gradually vanish from where it had once been placed. Fortunately, the symbiote did not retort against this act of transgression, and only stood there like a sergeant awaiting orders from their superior.

As Evelyn regained her stance, not even she could fathom its lack of aggression. "I assume that Mr. Brock is there, or have you decided to consume him just like your previous hosts?" While she sincerely hoped that Mr. Brock was still alive, Evelyn had a habit of solely referring to Murphy's law when in doubt; anything that could go wrong would most likely go down that path. There was little else to expect, and while the circumstances had proved themselves unpredictable, it made her no less dubious when it came to this kind of ordeal.

Strangely enough, the symbiote seemed to grow disdainful just seconds after she spoke of her assumptions; it found them offensive, it would seem. For whatever reasons, she could not tell. Not at first, at least, but it was best not to provoke it any further unless she deliberately wanted to anger it. While her words had a knack for insulting people, regardless of social standing, they would seldom be able to touch her exactly because of the barriers around their social standings. This creature, however, had no regard for such concepts, so she was very well aware of the fact that this was not someone she could so easily trigger.

But when you were standing on top of a building in the middle of the city with a multi-millionaire company chasing after you with the intent of maiming your corpse in the name of scientific progression, there was little worth caring about, much less the pride of the very same creature that was the cause of said manhunt.

"**Eddie is alive,"** it said with a low growl accommodating its words. **"We are keeping him safe,"**

_Safe_?

"And where are we now?"

"**_Safe_, ****from _TREECE_,"**

She halted in her steps upon listening to the unmistakable loathing sensation that emitted from the symbiote's throat. Its expressions changed into bitter fury, which said a lot considering how its countenance would have been deemed menacing regardless. No, this time, it was _hateful_, and it would not take an individual with an IQ at 140 to figure that out, and even with her lack of facial recognition skills, Evelyn could spot it with ease.

"It would seem that you find the guard quite exasperating. May I inquire why that is?"

"**Because he hurt **_**you**_**,"**

That was the reason? That was the explanation behind the symbiote's fury? The more she learned of its nature, the more Evelyn found herself at odds with what she had initially perceived of the organism. There were so many human characteristics about it, almost too much for her liking. Was this of its own nature, or did its host's character somehow affects its own?

"Of what concern is it to you what Treece may or may not have done to me?" she asked, more interested than skeptical this time. "Could it be that you have you grown sentimental towards the species you previously sought to consume?"

The growl grew louder, like a tiger being poked with a stick from outside its cage. The symbiote lessened its distance between them, though it did not give any indication that it wished to strike her in any way. **"Our intent is not to consume, nor to kill anyone unless it is required."**

"And did that principle did not apply to Maria Nordstrom? Why was killing her deemed a necessity?"

"**_We_**** did not kill her! Her body was already breaking down from the experiments; ****_we_**** were trying to keep her alive,"**

"For her sake or your own?"

"**What difference does it make when both are dying either way?" **the symbiote snarled, though it quickly regained its composure again. **"Maria gave up – there was nothing left of her to save. Eddie hasn't given up yet, and he is still willing to live, which is why I can manage to keep him alive,"**

"So a successful bonding requires mutual cooperation in order to function?" The Life Foundation most certainly lacked this piece of information, but Evelyn still questioned whether it was genuine or otherwise. If it was, then something did not add up. "Then how come the symbiote that's inside me is attempting to kill me at every whim? I have no intention of dying,"

"**But you have no intention of surrendering yourself to it either,"**

"Does my lack of submission warrant its hostility?"

"**No, but your lack of cooperation does. **_**Lasher**_** cannot help you unless you truly want it,"**

Evelyn blinked at this information, though she did not offer much in the way of conversation. Questions were building up inside of her, many of which she imagined the symbiote in front of her would be able to answer. That name, firstly, what was piqued her interest to begin with. _Lasher?_ It possessed a name of its own, and much like the one in front of her, this was almost of human origin, though considerably less common than _Venom_.

The symbiote in front of her could apparently sense her internal confusion, and it answered to the question she had been too preoccupied with to ask herself. **"Lasher is the one inside of you, albeit they seem not to be communicating, am I right?"**

Symbiotes were capable of speaking to their hosts without even being physically present, making her assume that they shared a mental link of some sort. Evelyn recalled watching Ms. Nordstrom speak to it, although she had initially believed it to be naught a hallucination due to the drugs she had been forcefully given. However, now that Evelyn was standing in the presence of the very same symbiote, form and voice accompanying it, there was no longer any doubt in her mind that it was a genuine creature.

Which made her question why the one within herself was seemingly incapable of speech. Looking back at it, she recalled seeing a face void of any mouth, and subsequently void of any voice.

"Why can't it communicate?" she asked.

"**A physical defect – even our species have those,"**

"Genetic, then?" she asked and placed a hand under her chin. "An inherited trait from either parent?"

But the symbiote shook its head at this suggestion. **"Symbiotes reproduce asexually. They do not know of concepts such as "mother" or "father" – only "predecessor", and each offspring becomes stronger than its predecessor,"**

Then that means 'Lasher' must have been underdeveloped in some sense, which would most certainly explain its lack of a mouth. While she had not seen it physically, she knew that what it lacked in terms of speech, it made up for it with sheer ruthlessness and strength. If its lack of one feature had to be compensated for in one way or the other, then its hunger might have been a plausible solution for that.

Evelyn lightly placed a hand over her chest where she could feel the turmoil stir in its sleep. While she did not wish to be conversing about something that was not relevant to the situation ahead of them, she could not contain her need for knowledge, especially in regard to the creature that was threatening her life at every turn. "You say that your intent is not to kill, or to feed, but can the same thing be said for this one?" she asked, narrowing her gaze. "As far as I have witnessed, this one has no other intent but to maim and kill each individual it comes to contact with,"

The black symbiote shook its head like a professor that was too exasperated from telling their student the same piece of information over and over again with no positive results. It rubbed its temples – even though it lacked a nose – and proceeded to explain once more. **"A symbiote and its host both need to cooperate – they need to be one in order to function. Lasher is someone who follows behind and does as they are ordered, but only as long as they receive enough fuel from their host. If not, the symbiote will begin to tear at the host instead as a substitute from what they lack, and that's when they begin to feed."**

"It's simply a matter of sustenance?"

"**Partially. The host needs to cooperate and contribute to the union in order for it to function properly, but you show no sign of wanting to do so, which is why Lasher cannot work alone. They need you just as much as you need them in order to survive,"** As it was done explaining, the black symbiote swiftly turned its face away from her and to the view of the city, its eyes wide and somehow … mesmerized. Evelyn took the opportunity to process the information she had received.

A symbiote was a creature that depended on its host in order to survive, not only because it protected them in an environment filled with oxygen, but because it would contribute to their lives as a whole. Their sustenance, their strength, their nature; it all depended on the state of their host, both physically and mentally. As she put the puzzle pieces together, it made sense as to why it had failed to properly bond with so many of the patients, regardless of how much sustenance it had been provided with. The patients had been involuntarily exposed to the symbiote – they had been unable to provide with the mental and physical contact it required in order to bond.

In other words: _**"Do to others as you would have them do to you"**_

Truly, this would become … problematic. Was she truly dependant on the same organisms that had killed so many people? Isaac Burton, Jacob Markson … Dora Skirth.

She could feel her chest tighten upon acknowledgment, but she could no longer tell whether it was her own natural reaction to the news or _something else's._

"What are you?" The question came in the form of a demand, though subtle. She wanted the answer more than anything else, along with multiple other answers. There was already enough at stake, and she could tell that they did not have enough time to answer them all, but she was going to receive this from someone who _could_ answer. The word 'symbiote' was a manmade designation for organisms they could no longer comprehend, and if she was forced to work alongside them, then she would rather address them as what they truly were; not what members of mankind deemed them to be in order to appease to their knowledge.

The black symbiote turned back to her again, face unreadable. It addressed her for a couple of moments before it proceeded to step closer towards her until it towered over her considerably shorter stance with minimal effort. **"We,"** it said. **"are Klyntar," **

"Klyntar," Now that sounded more foreign than anything. "Where are you from?"

"**There is no distinction between where we are from or what we are," **it said. **"Klyntar is what we are, as well as where we are from,"**

"Then I assume that there are more of you?"

"**There are as many klyntar as there are humans on this world, and **_**millions**_** more than that,"**

Millions more? Her movements froze, and so did her breathing. The millions of questions that surged through her mind all came to a halt upon processing that information. An entire planet filled with them, just waiting in the distance. If one of them could render dozens of humans to succumb to death, then what plausible results could millions have? Getting a handful of them here in the first place had been a deliberate action – but what were the possibilities that Drake's plans exceeded further than that little stunt which involved the comet?

This was not good.

"What are your plans now that you are free from your captivity?" She asked, feigning any insecurity she might have been feeling, and that was no thanks to the creature that was surging through her chest. A sense of vehement loathing towards it resonated through her being, primarily because she did not look away from the fact that it had killed so many people she had become acquainted with. However, if there was no way to rid her of it now without dragging herself down in the process, then she would be forced to engage in a brief alliance with them until it could be done. The only question was how.

"**What we want,"** said the _klyntar_. **"Is Carlton Drake's rocket?"**

His rocket? "To what purpose?"

"**To reach Klyntar,"**

"Your planet,"

"**Yes,"**

_Bull's eye._

"**That is also partially why I have kept you alive when Lasher failed to,"**

… What?

Evelyn blinked at this and crossed her arms over her chest. "Elaborate on the subject,"

The _klyntar_ leaned forward and both of its large hands on each of her shoulders, effectively keeping her in place. While she felt threatened at first, it was until she realized that – rather than using it as a means to threaten her – the symbiote's hold could almost be deemed '_affectionate'._ Its hold was firm but gentle, but also heavy, and the _klyntar's _smile seemed to spread even further towards where its ears would have been.

"**We have the same goal, **_**Evelyn March,**_**" **it spoke. **"****You help me get to the rocket, I will help you bring Carlton Drake ****_down_****. Do we have a deal?"**

A compromise. Was that the only alternative at her disposal? A compromise between herself and an extraterrestrial organism that had been partially responsible for multiple deaths? Well, in a sense, she was far from guiltless herself, so perhaps this was her retribution? Compensation for the sins she had committed in the past, and most likely were to commit in the future?

Evelyn looked over her shoulder to the edge of the rooftop again, feeling the wind brush past her face from the height. Jumping off the ledge no longer tempted her like it had minutes before, but there was still a short distance between her and the act that would end it all. Did she dare to? Was she willing to sacrifice everything she, Brock and Skirth had been trying to accomplish for the sake of her own inability to put her disdain for the organism aside? Both the one inside of Brock and the one inside of her?

_'_**_When you die, you won't be missed, so it will be easier to say bye-bye. But you will be free.'_**

She was not going to die. Not yet.

She had a promise to uphold.

_Promise me._

_"**Well?"**__ it asked impatiently._

_"I have some conditions," she replied, returning her gaze back to it with sharpened eyes. "I will help you get the rocket, and you will assist me in taking down the Life Foundation and Carlton Drake as a whole,"_

_"**Yes,"**_ it verified.

"Once you have reached the rocket, you, this sym– _Lasher_, and any other of your kind that is left on Earth; you will all leave _permanently_," Her voice felt restrained as it constricted those words, as though she was declaring a public execution. She did not fully realize the weight of her words until she watched as the symbiote's once firm shape morphed into that of a frozen individual; non-moving and ever-so-unreadable, but discernible to the core. Despite its inhuman nature, she was learning to decipher its behavior based on the reactions she perceived.

This time, it was contemplating; having been presented with a condition that it either found interesting or disadvantageous. Its fingers grazed its chin as a human would, and it made her think of what kind of habits it had earned from its earlier hosts. Perhaps its hosts' characteristics were somehow affecting its nature? If what it had said earlier about sharing some kind of mental and physical link with its host was true, then that would make sense as to why it was so unbearably recognizable in terms of behavior.

While it was rendered in its silent demeanor once again, Evelyn took her time to travel from the edge and further into the center of the rooftop; it was a limited space, but big enough for her to wander around. Although it was not someplace that was fit for nighttime-strolls, which would explain its lack of an elevator and railings, Evelyn found the view mesmerizing nevertheless. The aesthetically seldom pleased her, which was why she scarcely visited museums or art galleries, but she was willing to make an exception on this occasion.

After all, it might become the last time she got a view like this. She could learn to appreciate it.

The tightness in her chest loosened slightly.

Finally, after several moments of contemplating, the _klyntar_ finally spoke. **"We agree to the terms, **_**Evelyn March,**_**" **it declared.

"Good," A thought suddenly came to her as she felt the hands on her shoulders drift off of her. "But I have another question,"

"**Fine, but be quick,"**

"You said that me assisting you was partially the reason you saved me. Was there any other reason that would contribute you deeming my life worthwhile?"

At this, the _klyntar_'s response caught her off-guard with little effort.

"**Because **_**we like you**_**, **_**Evelyn March**_**,"** it said firmly.

She froze. "You… like me?" She most certainly had not anticipated this outcome.

"**Yes,"** the _klyntar_ verified, sounding as though it was conversing about as casual as the weather. **"Back at the cells, you were the only one who gave enough shits to keep us alive. Because of that, we decided that we would rather keep you alive than to watch Lasher inadvertently kill you. Also, that's why we fully intend on biting off Treece's head when we find him,"**

_Damned sentiment_, Evelyn thought as her mind tried to process this as well as she could, though it didn't take long before her head felt like it was on the verge of falling apart. Speaking of which, the headache returned.

How long had it been since someone last said that they 'liked' her?

However long it was, she would have preferred it if it had been longer, and she most certainly would not have wanted to hear it come from the lips of an alien. But, strangely enough, it was preferable above that of a human. She just didn't know how to deal with it, and she did not try to understand it either.

"Please," she said through a heavy sigh as she rubbed her temples. "Just ... get us down from here and return Mr. Brock,"

_In her mind, however, Evelyn knew that there was something else at stake; something graver. The only problem, though, was that she did not know what it was._


	31. Chapter 31 - Give Chase

**Disclaimer: I do not own Venom**

**A/N: SO, OVER A YEAR, 30 CHAPTERS AND 160 000 WORDS, AND IT WAS ABOUT DAMN TIME WE GOT TO THIS PART! Seriously tho, this chapter was an absolute joy to write, and I'm so glad we've finally reached it. I'm sorry that it's taken so long and that I've been absent for a little over a month (Which, actually, isn't much in comparison to the other stories I've neglected...). However, I've spent the last couple of days with this chapter now, and I've made it extra long in order to compensate.  
**

**I really don't want Evelyn to become a hero-wannabe, which is what I'm trying to steer from. Still, I had to find a way to make her play a role in the chase, but without affecting too much of it. She has NO control of Lasher, I repeat, she doesn't immediately learn how to use them, but she attempts to make it work just enough for them to likely survive. **

**Also, hints and clips regarding Venom 2 have been published online, and thus far, I'm interested. _Carnage's_ involvement will play a huge part later on, which I'm somewhat building up on. Still, that's a bit away from now.**

**Warning ahead: This chapter contains mentions of sexual content, though in a non-elaborative way. **

**Additional art will be posted on my DeviantArt account: X-KuroShiro-X  
**

**As always: Read, review and enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 31: Give Chase**

* * *

By the time Eddie found himself awake again, he was walking down the streets of downtown San Francisco with sweat practically dripping off his body by the liters. His body was drenched through the fabric of his clothes, and his heart was racing a million miles per minute. If anything, he believed that he had run a marathon in his sleep, but his lack of appropriate clothing and surroundings for an occasion such as that verified that he could not have been sprinting for the sake of sports.

He immediately stopped in his tracks, his hands shaking and his bodily fluids pouring down his forehead. "Wh- What the fuck just – Where the hell am I?" His voice was quivering as if he had been cold prior to regaining consciousness.

"Mr. Brock, I see you have regained consciousness," said a cold and unbearably recognizable voice. March turned to face him, her doctor's coat was wrapped around her waist, revealing her white-but-equally-tarnished shirt beneath. It felt strange to see her wear something but that coat, but his attention was hardly aimed at that given the moment.

In a fit of panic, he looked around himself, trying to make any sense as to why he was there in the first place.

The last thing he recalled was the burning building, and then he blacked out completely. The next thing he knew, they were both out of harm's way, in a completely different part of the city. At first, he had imagined it all to be but a vivid and - mildly put - fucked-up dream he had inadvertently conjured from months of bad eating and overall destructive habits, but the scent of smoke which still lingered on him debunked the theory he desperately wanted to be unreal.

"What happened?!" He just barely shouted and quickly lowered his tone. "Where the fuck are we? How- How did we get here?" Questions were spewing out of his mouth like saliva, but the oncologist seemed less than affected by this display.

She stopped promptly in her steps and looked at him with what Eddie could only classify as mild annoyance.

"We walked," she said simply.

"You know that's not what I'm talking about,"

"... Alright," She crossed her arms over her chest and looked like she was ready to tell a story. "The alien organism that resides in you has the intent of retrieving Carlton Drake's rocket in order to reach his home planet, and in exchange for our assistance in doing so, he will help us bring Drake down and leave earth permanently along with his kin," She talked of this as though weather was the topic of her words.

Eddie choked on his breath, having forgotten how to breathe for a moment. He probably would have laughed his ass off had March given the slightest indication that she was bluffing about what she had said.

She _had_ to be bluffing! That entire sentence was a roller-coaster from start to finish, so it only made sense for her to be joking, though it would be unbearably uncharacteristic of her to do so. Ever since the first time since he met her, never once had she ever laughed or smiled; much less joked about something.

If this was a joke, then this would have to be the best one yet he had ever heard in his entire life.

However, Eddie's hopes and dreams were swiftly buried underground.

There was no smile featured on March's face; no wink; no physical sign of humor at. all. Whereas he was freaking out like he woke up in Hell on a bicycle, March did not seem any different than she usually did, though the bags under her eyes seemed like they were six feet deep, and her posture had changed. It was barely noticeable, but if there was one thing he had learned from his career, it was to take note of the subtle signs. For example, whereas March would previously walk with her shoulders high and her stance straight, now she was slightly hunched over, and her eyes radiated with thrice as much fatigue as they previously did, which said a lot.

She had _not_ been bluffing at all.

_Fuuuuuuck…_

"You're … serious?" What little hope had previously manifested in him scattered like dust in the wind as the realization came crashing down at him like the meteor that sent the dinosaurs into a state of extinction. "You're… You're actually _serious?_"

"Under which part of circumstances like these would I be anything but serious?" she asked.

Eddie scratched the back of his head sheepishly; she had a point there. While humor was a defense mechanism in itself, it would be deemed inappropriate even now. Still, her explanation left another question unanswered for. "You spoke to _him_?" he asked and pointed hesitantly at his head.

She gave a brief nod. "I did,"

"… Did he do to me … like _that_ –" Eddie pointed at her with the same trembling finger. " – did to you?"

March looked at his finger for a moment, then shifted her gaze back at him, equally unimpressed. "Yes,"

"And what did … he look like?"

For the first time since he met her, March looked like she did not possess any answers or snarky comments. She narrowed her eyes, but this time it wasn't aimed directly at him, then she made strange movements with her hands like she was about to mimic what she had seen. Of course, none of the movements made any sense to Eddie, but he followed along regardless.

"Considerably large," she said as she motioned with her hands. "Eight to ten feet at most. Black of color,"

"The actual fuck?"

" – Missing several human features; a nose, ears, pupils, genitalia,"

Eddie decided he'd rather not become vocal about the image he was getting into his head as a product of the doctor's vague descriptions of what he looked like when under the control of the extraterrestrial organism. Needless to say, if it wasn't pleasant imagery for him, it definitely wouldn't be pleasant for her, and not even Eddie resented her enough to expose her to that image, though he doubted it would have much of an impact on her considering she already knew what it looked like.

But one thing that unnerved him was her lack of reaction towards this. If anything, she spoke as though she was diagnosing one of her patients, and he didn't quite like that comparison. Another matter was that the more she kept enlisting things regarding what the creature did or did not possess of human qualities, the more Eddie realized that this was almost the furthest thing from human as possible, and she did not even flinch.

"How are you so calm about this?" he said before he could evaluate his words, and by the time he realized what he had just said, the enlisting stopped and March met his gaze with equal perplexity, which is something he didn't believe she was capable of.

"I tend not to … get too invested in something that could potentially –"

He rolled his eyes. "_English, _please?"

She paused. "I don't want to react in a way that's … inconvenient,"

"I think, at this point, we're past inconveniences,"

"Maybe…"

Eddie rubbed his temples, feeling worse than he did during a hangover on a Saturday night, or any night, considering he was unemployed and didn't really have anything to fill his days with. Running away with a psychotic doctor and an alien was as good as it was going to get on a Wednesday, at least. "So, what was this about a rocket, you said?"

"We need to –"

Her eyes grew sharp and she abruptly pulled him by the arm and into the side of the barren road. She swung him into one of the dark alleys behind a trashcan and before he could even protest to the harsh treatment, she placed a finger over her lips and gestured for him to be quiet. Eddie could feel his own lips seal up as if they had been glued together, but he was in no foul mood to be questioning it anymore.

March herself hurriedly threw herself on the other side of the alley behind a bunch of wooden boxes and knelt down, her eyes glued onto the road like a predator about to ambush the prey that had been unfortunate enough to earn itself the carnivore's attention.

Not even a minute later did the sound of a motorcycle making its way up the road echo through the silent street, and what looked like a lone biker dressed in all black pull up next to the entrance of the alleyway. Their face was obscured in the dark, but judging from the person's built and shaven head, it could easily be assumed that it was a guy.

At first, Eddie didn't know what the big deal was until he laid his eyes on the back of the biker, and noticed the all-too-familiar insignia of the Life Foundation adorning his jacket.

This wasn't good, but it seemed like the person was alone without the rest of his cult accompanying him. Still, Eddie had taken into consideration not to underestimate the LF or any of their deranged followers, so he held his breath and tried not to make a sound, although standing next to a trashcan filled with rotting food, waste, and Lord-knew what else made that a chore on its own.

The biker got off his motorcycle and scanned the perimeter around him for any sign of life, though there was little that could be found. Only the occasional stray cat, rats, and what sounded like _"FUCK YOU, MARK!"_ in the distance could be heard, but nothing seemingly worth taking note of. The biker, albeit unreadable, seemed discontent with this lack of activity. He snapped his head to the alleyway where they hid and took a couple of steps to further evaluate it.

Eddie could feel his chest threaten to burst out of his chest and he covered his mouth, no longer relying on the alien's ability to keep it shut. He quickly looked over at March. She had pressed herself further up against the wall, a severe expression on her face that could rival the ones she had previously had, which said something. Her white clothing could easily give her away, and that's when he remembered the black shirt he still had tucked inside the pocket of his hoodie. If they made it out of here alive, he would be sure to give it to her before they ventured further.

The biker pulled out a gun from his back, readying it as he stepped further. He was close now, unbearably so, but he didn't seem like he had successfully been able to notice them yet. Eddie couldn't tell if this was a sign of lack of expertise or just plain nearsightedness. Whatever the reason behind it, he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"_**Why are we hiding?" **_the voice asked like a child being denied candy on a Saturday, but Eddie wasted no breath trying to explain the situation when it was fairly obvious.

Step after step, the man went further and further into the dark alleyway. Eddie knew that the man was alone, and he could quickly throw him into a wall if he wished, but he could not decide on whether it would be wise or plain foolishness. After all, the man could be directly linked to the rest of the squad that were hunting them down, so he didn't want to play with that risk.

That _was_ the initial idea, but it seemed like his _companion_ thought otherwise.

As the biker tilted his head to Eddie's side, he must have noticed him, because he instantly raised his gun and prepared to shoot. The biker's cold eyes fell over the ex-journalist as he prepared to make the incapacitation probable.

However, before he could get as far, a loud _bang! _followed by a pregnant silence pierced through the air. At first, nothing seemed to happen, but then the biker let out an audible grunt and his body went limp to the ground, knocked out cold.

Eddie looked up and was surprised to see March with a piece of wood in her grip, and while her hold was firm, it was shaking. It seemed like she wasn't used to knocking people unconscious on a whim, and it was a trait he surprisingly respected.

"Not … bad," he offered and got up to his feet, stepping straight over the body with little concern.

March spared a look at the unconscious man before haphazardly threw the plank to the side next to the wooden crates she had been hiding besides previously. "That was … strange," she said.

"It worked," Eddie said nonchalantly with a shrug and shared her view of the man's unmoving form. A part of him wanted to feel sorry for the idiot, but the rest of him didn't.

"_**It would have been easier if **_**we**_** handled the situation," **_the voice snarled, but Eddie ignored it like before. He bent down and searched the unconscious man for anything valuable, but found little more than an earpiece, an ID that displayed the man's face and name, and some handcuffs, which he made sure to use well. Without wasting time, he quickly cuffed the man to one of the pipes and looked through his ID.

"Paul Ricardo," he read aloud. "Age 32, a piece of shit in his spare time, and a hired mercenary when on duty. Employed January 2., 2014,"

March eyed him disinterestedly for a moment but didn't let her mind linger on it for longer than she deemed worthwhile. She reached down for the gun that laid on the ground and pulled out the magazine, counting every bullet that remained. Then, without hardships, she promptly put it back together and proceeded to put on the safety lock.

Eddie couldn't deny his surprise. He had been in the army, and not even he was necessarily an expert within that field. Still, she was able to manage it relatively easy; if he didn't know any better, he might have guessed that she had prior experience with a handgun.

"You know how to handle a gun?" he asked.

"My father is a police officer,"

"He taught you how to use it?"

"Yes,"

He would have never guessed _that_. It was almost impressive. Well, considering how this was the first thing he'd ever heard about any of her family, he wouldn't have guessed anything about her life, really.

"So, you're pretty close to your parents, then?" He threw the earpiece and ID into the trashcan without even looking, but not before making sure that the earpiece was thoroughly crushed.

March did not answer back this time, hinting to Eddie that that territory was not one he wished to enter.

However, thinking back on it, Eddie realized that knew absolutely nothing about March, and even though these were hardly the best circumstances for making acquaintanceships, if he was going to work properly together with her, then he needed to be sure that they were on the same page.

You would think that running for their dear lives together from an inhumane organization in the middle of the night in downtown San Francisco would establish something akin to a trustworthy relationship between two individuals – at least some kind of bond – but Eddie wasn't sure whether it not it was an option just yet. Fuck, she had touched his face on several accounts to inspect him like a test subject, but that didn't make things easier. They had saved each other at times, as much as true, but not because of anything remotely similar to subjective attachments. It was business, but these circumstances had forced them to go further than that.

This was becoming increasingly more personal, which could win the prize of being The Understatement of the Year.

"Look," he said after what felt like an eternity of awkward silence in the middle of the alley. "If we're going to work together on this – whatever it is we're trying to do – I need to know that I can trust you,"

March spared him a brief look over her shoulder but didn't push the subject.

Eddie took this as a sign that she was listening. "Don't get me wrong; I'm not saying we should head out and braid each others' hair and whatnot," God, if there was such a thing as self-mutilation, this was the closest thing he'd get without using a knife or a cleaver. "However, I think we need to establish some kind of common ground,"

"What are you implying, Mr. Brock?"

"First of all, stop it with the '_Mr. Brock_' crap. It's giving me the chills, and it reminds me too much of my old man. _Eddie's_ fine," He dug his hand into his hair and sighed. "Second, I'd rather get to know someone a bit more before I trust them wholly,"

"Now is hardly the time to make acquaintances,"

On that, they could agree.

"I get it, but it'll make things easier to get the basics done with," Eddie walked towards her, extended his hand, and took a deep breath. "My point is … we work together as a team now. No more ignoring each other like the plague, and no more awkward silence. We get through this together, then we split up for good. Deal?"

March eyed his hand suspiciously, refusing to take it for some reason. She was a doctor, so it didn't seem too out of the question for her to be germaphobic, but Eddie somehow doubted this was related to any affliction or disease. It couldn't beat having a para – _alien_ lifeform crawling inside of you, now could it? If that was the case, then she seriously had her priorities messed up.

However, she exceeded his expectations when she grabbed a hold of his hand. Her touch was … surprisingly warm, but that didn't make up for how distant it felt. Granted, Eddie didn't expect her to be all buddy-buddy with him, so he took what he could get without complaints.

"Deal," she said.

For a moment, their eyes met. Though they never exchanged a word between the mutual, albeit reluctant, handshake, the eye-contact they shared somehow seemed to make up for their lack of verbal conversation. Eddie easily took note of the green of her eyes; the color of grass, the symbol of life, but strangely transparent.

Eddie had adapted himself to a rather cynical approach in life. Every stranger could be a potential threat; someone who could easily betray him or use him for their own gain. _Evil_, in other words. It was easy to perceive, but what struck him as most surprising was the fact that March's eyes, albeit cold, didn't have a smidgen of evil behind them.

There was just … deepness – a coastal shelf that plummeted into a deep _abyss_, and he could vaguely spot himself in that reflection.

Realizing that he had been staring, Eddie promptly let go of her hand and turned away. "Sorry," he muttered.

March didn't say anything to acknowledge it, for which he was grateful.

"Now, let's see," he moved past the tragedy of their recent awkward encounter and shifted his attention to the motorcycle that was still graciously parked up by the entrance of the alleyway. As he got to it, Eddie studied its design and was instantly impressed by its functions. Granted, he wasn't exactly certain what kind of model it was, but he could almost immediately tell that it was far more complex than his own had been, though it could be credited to the fact that it belonged to a fancy and privileged organization rather than an unemployed, semi-alcoholic ex-journalist.

And fortunately for them, the key was still attached, so it was already good to go. "We can use this,"

As she reached him to evaluate the state of the vehicle, March quirked an eyebrow. "I hope you are aware that the act of stealing a vehicle is a felony?"

"_Oh my god," _Eddie whispered. "I just watched you wack a guy over the head with a plank. You got no room to judge. Besides, do you really think the court is going to worry about a stolen motorcycle when we give them the evidence?"

She didn't argue against it, which Eddie took as a sign that she agreed. That would, perhaps, be the first time they had actually agreed on something.

"But before we leave," Eddie said and pulled the shirt out for her to see; the same one he had gathered from the now-demolished shop they had hidden in earlier. "You're too conspicuous walking around in a bloodied lab-coat, wouldn't you say?" He gestured to her clothes, and she glanced down at herself as well to note the mess. It would seem that she had not spent a moment to look at herself since … well, he had no clue, and he wasn't about to ask about it either.

Without a word, he handed her the shirt and she took it, but not before spending a moment to evaluate it. She unfolded the piece of fabric and held it up, taking note of both its size and its overall appearance. Eddie had to admit, it was decent enough, if not a bit oversized. Still, he didn't take her for being someone who worried about style, much less overall appearances.

It would seem he was right because March neither commented on it. She haphazardly put the shirt down on top of the bike's seat and proceeded to unfold her lab coat from her waist. However, as she did so, her eyes fell to something on – or rather _in –_ the coat's pockets, and she dug out what looked like some kind of passcard and … a hard-drive? Small, inconspicuous, but he was curious about what it contained.

The oncologist stared down at the small object in her palm for a solid moment or two, then she unexpectedly stretched it to Eddie. He froze in his steps, unnerved and caught by surprise like a child about to be scolded. He looked down at the hard-drive for a split second, then back at her for some kind of validation. "What is this?"

"It contains all the necessary information and proof you need against Carlton Drake, in case the pictures you took won't do," March explained, and he could tell from her expression that she was … melancholic, to an extent. Her eyes were aimed down at the hard-drive with some kind of resentment detectable in her irises.

"Dor – Dr. Skirth managed to download all the classified intel onto this hard-drive before she was …" Her voice went quiet and her hand, albeit subtly, began to shake.

That made Eddie think. He was never told specifically what happened to Dr. Skirth, but he guessed that it did not end well. "She didn't make it,"

"They found her downloading that information, so she was killed,"

Hearing this, Eddie cast a glance down at the hard-drive and hesitantly took it. Skirth had died trying to ensure their victory, but suddenly it didn't feel like they had done much progress. They were just running in circles around the city, trying desperately to avoid Treece and his goons. What were they really doing? What had really happened?

Whose blood was March really covered in?

"Before you got to my apartment, you were already covered in blood," he said. "Was it all yours?"

"It was,"

"And it began when you bonded with that – _symbiote?_"

Before she had as much as opened her mouth to offer him a proper response, she grabbed the edge of her shirt and proceeded to blatantly lift it up in an effort to get it off of her. The skin of her waist up until her chest went bare and Eddie felt his face turn heated as the outline of her bra came to view.

He quickly turned himself around from the sight, feeling like a teenager being caught peeking into the girls' locker room by mistake.

"_Jesus_, give me a warning next time," he choked out and covered his face with his free hand, feeling the heat creep further up his cheeks.

The voice chuckled, _**"Pervert,"**_

"_Shut up,"_

There was a moment of silence from March, then came a bland, "Apologies,"

Eddie silently swore to himself and listened as she put the store-shirt on. By mistake, he caught a glimpse of her as she pulled the shirt down, and the visible red mark over her abdomen did not go unnoticed. While it was brief and provided him by no means any view of the situation that had occurred, questions started going off inside him. No flesh wound of any kind, yet enough blood to indicate that there had been one there previously.

Once she was done, March turned to him with the same indifferent look in her eyes, almost as if she cared little about the fact that he had – unintentionally, mind you – seen her partially undressed. Knowing her, however, she could care less if she stood bare on the street. Eddie didn't know whether he found her lack of shame endearing or slightly disturbing, but he wasn't about to question the woman's behavior any more than he already had. Besides, it was none of his business.

"Well, is it okay?" he found himself asking as he returned to face her, scratching the back of his head. It did look a little big on her, but nothing that couldn't be managed. With the exception of the small _Buddy's Shop_ insignia patched on the sight side, there was nothing off-putting about it.

"It's good enough," she said, sounding surprisingly content, though to a limited extent. She held her arms slightly up and Eddie watched as the sleeves slid down to her elbows. Alright, it was slightly bigger than he had anticipated, but he doubted it could become a problem. Without even thinking, he placed the hard-drive in his pocket, reached forward, gently grabbed March's arm and began to fold them up so that it could be easier for her. Unexpectedly, March allowed this without a word or an utter of a complaint, but it was evident that the act surprised her as much as it surprised him.

They stood there in mutual silence as Eddie folded both sleeves up to her elbow, and his eyes unintentionally trailed to her waist where he had seen the blood. "What happened back there?" he heard himself asking before he could prevent it.

March went quiet again, but this time, it did not last. "Because of what Dor – Dr. Skirth did, Drake deemed her _expendable_,"

It didn't take an IQ of 150 to know the meaning of that, but he questioned it regardless. "You said _Lasher_ killed her?"

"Worse," March said, biting the inside of her lips before continuing. "Drake locked her in a cell … and released it upon her. Her death was … slow; torturous,"

Eddie could feel her arm tremble as he finished folding. "Did they find out about your involvement?" he asked.

She shook her head. "She denied by accountability, and that was apparently all Drake needed,"

"You didn't try to help her?" Eddie asked, his voice threatening to rise.

"… I did," she said, and Eddie couldn't tell whether or not his eyes were betraying him, but she almost looked … sad. "Once Drake left, I tried. Treece found out, and he …" She clenched her hand over where Eddie had seen the blood, and suddenly, all the pieces of the puzzle aligned into a whole picture.

"_**He hurt her," **_

He couldn't tell whether the voice inside was his own or otherwise this time. It was hard to differentiate between the two. Instead of looking straight at her, Eddie looked away from her, not knowing what to say, or how to say it. He had been in shitty situations before in life, mostly due to his own recklessness as a teenager, but he wouldn't exactly compare that to being shot, though there had been close-encounters in the past. He doubted consoling her like a sick puppy would bring either of them joy, so he settled for silence once again.

His eyes fell on hard-drive in his pocket again, and he pulled it out. As he studied the small thing in his grip, it was almost hard to imagine that something seemingly so insignificant was deemed worth a human life, or several in this case. Something that could get him his life back came at the cost of someone else's. If he knew that the price of getting his life, his career, and possibly his ex-girlfriend back would be at the expense of someone else, Eddie couldn't tell for certain if he would have done it, but it was too late now.

"Did she have any family?" he asked quietly.

"She has a sister and a young son," March answered. "Possibly more, but I know of no one else,"

"Jesus," he whispered, guilt eating him up sooner than the thing inside him did. "Poor kid," Eddie didn't have a mother while growing up, which was something his father never cared enough to keep from him. Still, this wasn't the best moment to compare situations, as much as a part of him wanted it to be.

"Once this is over, if we survive," March said. "I have a promise to uphold,"

Eddie perked up. "A promise?"

"A message to relay to her son,"

"Which is?"

March placed a finger over her lips at this, and for just a split second, Eddie swore he could see the ghost of a smile grow on them. "It's confidential,"

Strangely enough, Eddie found himself chuckling. "Well, fuck, then we have got to survive this shitshow. Can't disappoint the kid now, can we?"

"I suppose not, but where are we going?"

"We need to get to the city. You said we need that rocket, right?"

"Straight for the LF, then?"

"I first need to make a stop someplace, but it will be quick,"

"Won't that attract their attention?"

"... Yes," It wasn't going to be easy.

March became skeptic again. "I assume you have a plan?"

"Eh … twelve percent of one,"

While the numbers did not add up at all, March nonetheless grabbed ahold of the LF passcard and shoved it into her pocket, then proceeded to grab the gun as well. Eddie didn't want to guess where it was applicable to put it, nor was he about to suggest anything. He got onto the motorcycle, turned the key, and gave it a good kick before it started. He gestured for her to get down on it as well, but not before taking into consideration that she would be forced to hold onto him as not to accidentally fall of. Of course, she would probably be fine just clutching onto the fabric of the back of his hoodie, but he wanted to be on the safe side.

And the thought of _that_ was … well … strange.

As March got onto the bike, Eddie let out an uncomfortable sigh as he forced the words out of him. "Hold tightly onto me,"

To his surprise, without a word, the doctor did just that without complaint. He could feel her arms as they wrapped around his waist and her tingers knotted against each other tightly, keeping her in place. Her front was against his back, and he could feel her warmth as though it was a part of his own.

_She was warm._

You would expect someone like her to be cold.

Without saying anything, Eddie turned the handle and on their way they went.

* * *

Carlton was anxious, or rather, he was agitated. It wasn't often he acknowledged such _human_ faults within himself, but on the few occasions that he did, it was unbearable. Control was something he always sought, regardless of the occasion. Not to have it was … difficult. With his suspicions confirmed regarding the whereabouts of SYM-A02, mixed feelings stirred up in his chest regarding how he was supposed to handle the situation accordingly. Both of his symbiotes were at the hands of people who opposed them, and one of them happened to be someone he had previously placed his entire trust in. Someone he believed shared his goal with him.

One if Treece's subordinates – **his** subordinates – had informed him of what they had seen. A woman matching Evelyn's descriptions had been reportedly seen inside of the Richmond District, along with Brock.

If Treece thought he was being discreet, then two tours to Afghanistan had not served him as well as he had believed.

Carlton stood outside of the room from the rest of his staff, secluded, as he usually was. Whilst they were evaluating the chase like spectators in the Colosseum, he was thinking thoroughly.

His arms crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed to the floor, he knew he had to find some way to handle the situation without potentially risking the subjects. For now, he was astonished by the fact that not only had the hosts survived contact, but they were practically merged together; the goal this entire project had been aimed towards had been achieved, but not in the most conventional manners.

Brock, now that he could have expected, even without Dora's assistance. The man had always had a streak about him which Carlton found most unnecessary and unwanted, like an unruly child in need of strict discipline before entering the majority of society. Taking away everything in Brock's life had never been Carlton's goal, not intentionally at least, but it served as a means to make people understand that approaching things the way Brock did seldom had favorable outcomes.

But Evelyn, now that was something he had not expected at all, and he felt his fingers curl into his arms as the oh-so-sour taste of _betrayal_ landed on his tongue. He had not expected this outcome at all; he had trusted her, almost to the extent where he compared that trust to the one he held towards Dora prior to her demise. Carlton thought – _knew _– that Evelyn had shared his views, his goals, and his mindset. Sacrifices were necessary – painful, but necessary to the core – if they wanted to save humanity as a whole.

He thought she understood that – a part of him still did – but then why was she running away from them in the first place with Brock, instead of surrendering peacefully to the mercenaries? Was she blackmailed in any way by Brock to cooperate? Was he jumping to conclusions too soon?

The first female to successfully bond with a host for a prolonged period without any signs of side-effects. It was a miracle, and Carlton's mind buzzed with all the progress this could mean; all the advancement. While subject T790129 had provided some results, this was different. This was _symbiosis_; the core of their project.

Truly something akin to a second Eve.

But that would have to wait. For now, he needed to deduce. How had she even managed to bond with it in the first place?

The symbiote had been locked with Skirth, and there had been no way for her to open the cell – even if she had wanted to. The passcard didn't permit access into two hours later, and before them, the staff would contain the subject and discard Dora's corpse. She could not have gained entry without some sort of assistance from someone Carlton _knew _had the authority to enter cells with or without his knowledge. His scientists were completely under his supervision, Charlie didn't have the balls to walk into the labs on his own, and security did not have authorized access.

But _one_ of them did.

Carlton bit the inside of his lip until he felt it draw a drop of blood, but he paid it no mind. He had suspected as much, and this was something he was going to bring up later.

For now, all that was required was to capture the subjects alive and bring them to the facility. Afterward, he could begin questioning them. _All of them, _and boy, did he have some questions _to ask_.

* * *

They rode down the streets of San Francisco in total silence. While it would have been preferable under ordinary circumstances, for some reason, Evelyn found it particularly unwelcoming. It probably had to do with the fact that each time she kept her eyes closed for just a couple of seconds, her drowsiness would take over and her head would slump against the ex-journalists back like dead weight. Each time that occurred, she would promptly regain focus and try her damnedest not to allow it to repeat.

But it did. Thrice, and each time she regained consciousness, she would tighten her hold around Mr. Bro - _… Eddie's _back. Each time she did so, Evelyn swore she could feel her chest grow warmer, although she had no certain answer behind why that was. Most likely a side-effect of her lethargy accompanied by some kind of external factor, though she neither possessed the energy nor the interest of deducing what that was. Still, as she sat back there on the motorcycle within so close proximity to the ex-journalist, a part of her could not help but subtly scoff at the irony of the whole ordeal.

This was the physically closest she had been to someone who did not wish to kill her for a while, and it occurred while her life was at peril. She couldn't tell if it was highly inconvenient or fascinating, so she decided not to address it aloud. Being this close to someone was … not as common as it used to be before.

Despite her lack of general interest in it, Evelyn was no stranger towards engaging in physical intimacy with others. While she would often find it unnecessary or just outright tedious to preform – her first encounter proved just that - she was not prude to the extent where she denied herself the access to it if she had a twinge of interest. Finding a temporary partner posed as no difficulty either, though she would refrain from picking someone off the streets like a harlot. Some times it would be a colleague she had little to no contact with for the sake of maintaining a professional relationship with, other times it would be someone she met at a conference with no intention of seeing afterward. The only qualification she required was someone of a sound mind and a healthy physique.

The number of people she had been with wasn't excessive, but sound enough. She had no interest in pursuing them further after their encounter, and if that was the case, it was never for the sake of establishing anything more than what had already been established before. It was simple like that; predictable, just as she preferred things. They would exchange favors, fulfill each other's physical needs, share their warmth, along with a bed, but that was all there ever was to it. They would part ways afterward, and nothing else would ever become of it. Physical intimacy was … It was just that. _Physical_. There was nothing to gain from it other than temporary bliss, and even she indulged in it from times to times, but just as a means to temporarily rid herself of the many internal faults she had no control of.

The people who spoke of 'emotional closeness' and 'fulfillment' knew nothing. They were living in a fantasy; a wonderland of their own delusions.

While it had been some time since her last encounter, she was still perfectly able to recall his warmth. They had been tangled in sheets, as close as it could be, and his body had felt like a blazing pressed to hers. They had been sweating profusely, moving in sync, until the entire room felt like a bathhouse. She could recall everything as though it had been only yesterday; everything from the furniture aligned with the room, to the features of the man's face; Sturdy, smooth like freshly-carved marble, but he harbored nothing akin to affection for her, nor her to him. He had only looked at her once through the thing, poised on top of her, and that had been all.

And even so, she found herself comparing that encounter with the predicament she was currently forced into. Back then, she had been completely exposed, covered in sheets with someone else over her. Now, she was sitting completely dressed on a motorcycle on her way into the center of San Francisco while holding onto someone she had barely known for longer than 24-hours, and yet … the latter provided her with more warmth than the former had.

It didn't make sense, and the feeling was a foreign one, but she did not wish to waste time dissecting the situation to analyze each individual part.

Instead, Evelyn let her gaze wander to the city as the view passed her by. Strands of her hair flew in her face but kept the view as serene as possible. The sight of the buildings and the people was prominent; even in the dead of night, there was life to be seen. Stores were open and selling, cars were moving around at almost an equal pace as them, and the number of people she saw walking the streets was astonishing.

Even after almost ten years of living there, Evelyn had never once spent a moment to marvel at the view. How ironic that only when her life was at risk did she stop to smell the roses, in a way of speaking (she assumed that was the correct way to say it). What had primarily attracted her to the city was that it was far from Michigan; the place she wanted to stay in the least. It was also further away from New York, which was also someplace she also wanted to stray as far away from as possible. None of those places brought her any happiness, so San Francisco was the perfect place to escape to.

Still, even now, it proved that past actions could still catch up to you.

_But for once, it felt good to not be alone in it._

"You still holding on?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder to look at her.

"I am," she replied.

The moment their eyes briefly met, he shifted his attention back to the road but kept his mouth open to speak as they sped through the streets. "Can I ask you something?"

"What is it?"

"Why exactly did you join Drake on this … thing?"

_Why?_ _Because God abandoned them in a world filled with destruction? Because humanity would cease to survive unless they did something radical about it? Because she wanted to save them all? Or because she couldn't bear the thought of losing someone else to forces she had no control of? _

"I wanted … to save people,"

"From what?"

"Diseases, the world, themselves," For each word she spoke, her gaze wandered further to the ground.

"From themselves? How would you do that?"

"Humanity is … They are flawed. They keep on making decisions that destroy others or themselves; they are addicted to what affects them negatively, and sometimes they are aware of that, but they don't change anything. Even when they are capable of being saved, they choose not to,"

"So, you wanted to take away their ability to choose? Their flaws?"

"I wanted to make them less…" What was the word?

"Less human," he answered for her, as though having already seen through what she wanted to convey.

And he did.

"_Yes_,"

Rather than judging her as she had initially anticipated, instead, he came with something else to contradict her."Do you really think that would have helped? That it would have saved them?"

"I have seen how humans behave," she explained. "Some behave purely out of their own interests _**because they can,**_ while others did nothing to save themselves because _they wanted to be let go of_," As she said this, Evelyn tightened her hold further around his waist, not aware of this until she could feel the wrinkles of his hoodie beneath the tips of her fingers. "Their choices are flawed,"

He did not address this behavior of hers, for which she was grateful, but that didn't keep him from speaking his mind. "But that's the point of humanity; Their flaws, and the right to choose what to do and what not to do,"

"Even when what they do is foolish,"

"Of course, but that's part of their nature," he said without pause. "You can't take away pieces of their humanity and still expect them to be completely human, can you? They'd be just … just …"

It clicked for her the same time it did him, and they said in perfect unison: "_Machines,"_

She knew what that term meant too well, yet years of being addressed as such had never affected her more than it did now. Void of life, of emotions, of sentiment; for so long she had imagined that she would be better off without it. It kept things blunt and straightforward, without complications and without fault. Many had condemned her for such an approach, patients and colleagues alike. She did not doubt that had her parents known, they would have looked at her the exact same way they did _that day_; cold, unyielding scorn and disappointment. Hate and resentment. She had earned their contempt from what she did _that day_, and it was also the day she learned that nothing is done out of sentiment provided with successful results.

And yet there she was; her actions had produced little - if any - positive results. Countless were dead, and more so were at risk unless she made up for it. She had sworn never to become a _**murderer**_, or a _savior_, but how odd would it be that the two of them coincided simultaneously? Being both the lamb and the lion; the prisoner and the executor; the killer and the victim; a human and a machine.

Was that what her situation had morphed into? An existential paradox?

How utterly wasteful, yet … so strange that such a subject would strike her at seemingly the most inconvenient time.

Evelyn pulled one of her arms back to her and looked down at her hand. She watched as her palm shifted briefly into a dark color akin to the kind you would expect to see on the grass at night, and a lukewarm feeling seeped through her nerves. The symbiote was still there, and the more she looked at it, the more she came to the conclusion that she no longer abhorred its existence as before. That didn't mean she enjoyed it, but a sense of kinship came over her. It had killed others, and it had nearly killed her, but how did that differ from what she had done herself? Was this her retribution?

_**Do to others as you would have them do to you.**_

If anything, she was less human now than anyone else on the planet, in more ways that one.

"Where did you say we were going?" she asked, trying her best to mask the internal conflict she could not bother to waste time on. It brought out a sense of agitation she wanted to disregard.

"Just away from here, for a start,"

"_That _was your twelve-percent-plan?"

"_I'm working on it_! It's better than walking all the time, at least!"

She had several theories why that mindset wouldn't help them in this particular situation, but none of them managed to become vocal before the sudden urge to **"**_**DUCK**_**"** befell her, and she promptly felt her body automatically assume a position in which she clung harshly around his waist to the point where she could feel his ribs slightly give in to her grip.

On point, Mr. – _Eddie's _body hunched slightly as well, and they watched as what appeared to be some kind of drone flew dangerously close over their heads and crashed onto the road ahead of them.

The impact sent the entirety of the road into a state of disarray. The explosion caused the majority of the cars to lose sight of their surroundings and accidentally crash into their fellows, further inducing the street with chaos. They barely managed to swing to the side as a car was on the verge of making a beeline towards them, but fortunately, _Eddie_ proved to be a semi-decent bike-rider in terms of skill and precision. Evelyn could appreciate that, but the admiration did not manage to last for longer than they could stay out of harm's way.

"_FUCK!_" she heard Eddie yell, and it was when she looked up again that she discovered that the entirety of his right arm had turned completely black, and the speed picked up fairly quickly. They constantly had to maneuver their way around the cars in an effort not to get struck by what was on the ground and what was in the air above them, and when Evelyn shifted her attention to what was behind her, she came to the unwelcomed realization that there were at least eight or so drones hovering in the air above them, and cars resembling those belonging to the LF didn't stray far away either.

_Damn it. This was bad. They had to find a way out of there that didn't result in anyone else being caught in the crossfire. _

It didn't take long before two or three drones picked up on their pace, and _Eddie_ evidently took this into consideration as he too began to pick up the pace even further than before. They were doubtlessly breaking more than a dozen sets of rules that circumvented the traffic, but there were other things to concern themselves with unless it affected the safety of the others (which it already did). Evelyn quickly shifted her attention back to the road ahead of them and did a quick evaluation of the path they were headed towards. There were too many obstacles blocking their path, both human and otherwise, and the drones kept on hindering their progress. These were self-destructive upon hitting the ground, and the cars that were unfortunate enough to block their path could vouch for that.

"Steer out of the main roads!" she yelled and adjusted her seating until she could get a full view of what was behind them.

_"I'm trying!" _he shouted back at her.

_"Try harder!"_

_"_You _drive then!"_

_"I don't possess the required skills to drive this vehicle!"_

_"Then stop judging me!"_

Ignoring his childishness, Evelyn assessed her surroundings and tried to come with a logical solution. She had to try and keep the drones off their backs, but doing so could also potentially harm anyone that was in their way. It was too risky, but … if she could somehow make it so that they would self-destruct prior to even hitting the ground and lessen the chances of them harming anyone…

With a sense of uncertainty lingering on her back, she reached for the gun she had tucked away and undid the safety lock. She held it with both hands on the same level as her eye and tried her best to aim at the closest drone that had yet to reach the asphalt. It had been quite some time since she last held a gun, and keeping a steady grip proved to be quite challenging on its own, especially given the road conditions.

Still, she evened her breathing pattern and placed her thumb gently over the trigger. Her father's word echoed in her head as she recalled the rules he had instructed to her.

_Keep your aim sharp and your head sharper._

She aimed straight at the drone, composure intact.

_Take a deep breath._

She took breath deep enough to fill both of her lungs, then proceeded to release it smoothly.

_Fire the damn thing._

She pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit the damned thing straight on, and it exploded into a thousand pieces at the spot; it descended down on the asphalt like drops of rain, but made no impact as a whole.

If there was a God, then even He would have been proud of such a feat.

"_Holy shit!_" Eddie let out a yelp and quickly turned around to look at what had happened. "_What the shit was that?"_

But Evelyn was in no mood to answer his queries. Aiming at the second drone closest to them, she simply said, "Keep driving," and was pleased to see that the ex-journalist heeded her words with no complaints whatsoever.

She reassumed her target and pulled the trigger, but missed her shot, as the drone dodged too quickly for her to be able to hit it. There were ten bullets left in the magazine, and she didn't know how many she could afford to waste. Evelyn shot again, but had no further luck, as the drone quickly maneuvered away. _Damn, only nine left. _

As she prepared to aim again, movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention and before she had the time to process the view of the other incoming drone, she instinctively shielded her eyes with both of her arms and braced herself for impact. At any given moment, the feeling of cold iron would scrape her skin and leave her bleeding on the concrete, or otherwise inconveniently injured.

Yet there came nothing but the sound crushed metal and malfunctioning electronics, like squeezing a piece of tinfoil in your grip, accompanied by the noise coming from severed wires.

Evelyn slowly opened her eyes again and looked past what little her arms would allow to come to view, and when she saw what had happened, she breath got caught in her throat and her pupils shrunk ever so slightly.

A spear-like object the color of a dark blue had stretched forward and pierced straight through the drone like a needle through a piece of paper. Then, the spear swiftly withdrew and allowed the drone to fall to the ground and promptly out of sight down the road. Evelyn spent a moment to watch as the sharp tendril gradually withdrew itself back to where it had protruded from, which she came to realize had been her _back_. With a quick look over her shoulder, she watched as the substance merged with the fabric of her shirt and disappeared from view, as though nothing had been there at all.

_That's right … _she thought to herself. _Lasher_

**"_The host needs to cooperate and contribute to the union in order for it to function properly, but you show no sign of wanting to do so, which is why Lasher cannot work alone. They need you just as much as you need them in order to survive,"_**

They both had to survive this ordeal, and none of them could do it without the other.

Letting out a sigh, she said, "Alright, then. Let us give it a try,"

* * *

Constantly being shot at with drones, having to move out of the way on each and every turn, while being hunted down by a criminal organization had not exactly been how Eddie had imagined spending his day, but he had little choice in the matter anyhow. Between not getting run over, hit in the head with one of those flying machines, and simultaneously controlled by the _thing_ inside of him, he couldn't say with certainty that he was doing a particularly good job at staying alive, but at least he was breathing, although his competency within that field too was far from perfect.

For each time a drone crashed down either in front of him, next to him, or right in the back of some poor guy's car, Eddie internally prayed that the ones unwillingly involved in this rather fucked-up accident were mostly unharmed. He really didn't need lives on his hands right now more than he probably had. However, on the other hand, he was oddly enough getting a hang of whatever the hell _Venom_ was doing, and the alien had actually saved his ass several times now. First time with the drone that came above their head not too long ago, then second by steering away from the drones that came dashing from the side.

"_Thank you!"_

"**_You are welcome,"_**

That exchange must have been the most civil one they had ever had thus far, and Eddie found himself strangely elated because of that. Or, it was just a symptom of the shock his body was going through because of the countless attempts on his life already. Talking to a voice inside his head that turned out not to be the result of some underlying tumor went further down the list of shitty things that could happen to him. However, _Venom's_ perception of speed and his control over it could be … discussed.

"**_Don't diss my driving if you want to live!"_**

"_Fine! Sorry!"_

After a while of driving, Eddie came to notice that none of the drones behind seemed to reach him in time. They would go off far behind him, or far enough to be unable to get to someplace where it could affect him. The sound of explosions was still very much audible from a length, but not enough to alarm him of any immediate dangers.

He briefly looked over his shoulder and what appeared to be … _vines_ were striking at the drones behind them like flies. Sparks flew everywhere as they one by one disintegrated into dust before his eyes. At first, he swore he was seeing things, but as his eyes slowly trailed over to where March was sitting, and he realized that the _vine-like _things were actually coming from _her._

Stretched out from her back, there were approximately four of them in total, several feet long, and they were all successfully taking down drone by drone until the number had lessened considerably. They would slice straight through them, pierce through their cores, or simply swing the devices into each other until there was nothing left of them but powder.

"How the actual _fuck _are you doing that?"

Her response was, as always, utterly calm, but her words were something else.

"_I'm_ not the one doing anything,"

Eddie found himself so amazed – yet disturbed – by the sight that he momentarily forgot to focus on the road ahead of him. The sudden jerk of his head brought him back, and the voice reprimanded him like a child being caught not paying attention in class.

"**_Keep your eyes on the road!"_**

And Eddie did, without failure this time. The wind hit his face straight in the face and a few drops of tears slid to the sides. The sound of the drones being destroyed felt like music to his ears, but that alone was no indication that they were out of harm's way yet. It was just a symptom of the fact that they were closing in on it.

"Are you able to get them all?" he asked.

"I'm unable to get to the last one," she said, voice strained and seemingly agitated. Eddie could hear the air behind him shift, and as he cast a look over his shoulder again, he came to the disturbing realization that the last drone moved so quick that he could barely let his eye linger on it for less than a second before it shifted its position in the air again. Each time one of those vine-like tendrils would stretch towards it in an attempt to destroy it, the device would effectively avoid getting caught, and it was getting dangerously close to her. Less than a few feet, and it could potentially hit her directly.

Eddie tried to make a turn to shake it off them but to no avail. The road was too unsteady for March to get a good aim at it, much less keep herself down on the seat, and he feared the worst as he made out the sound of the device's engine right behind them.

"_Oh God, NO!" _ His voice carried a sense of childishness which he despised, but that was a matter for another time.

Bracing for the worst, Eddie released his right hand and grabbed a hold of March's waist, pulling her as close to him as he could muster without risking breaking her ribs – it took some effort, considering the severity of the circumstances. However, if they were on the verge of losing their seats and crash into some building with several punctured lungs and bones to make up for the impact, then he would not let that happen without at least some effort in trying to keep them both safe.

Her back pressed to the side of his abdomen and Eddie shut his eyes as he waited for the explosion to go off and potentially send them both flying several feet in the air.

A black tendril then quickly shot out from his own back and grabbed ahold of a car-door from the side of the road, swung it up in front of them both, and successfully blocked the incoming drone as it proceeded to crash straight into the material. The moderate explosion sent sparks of electricity around everywhere and left behind a significant flame in its wake, but not large enough to cause any serious damage to any pedestrians that were unfortunate enough to find themselves close by.

As soon as the fire died out, the black substance seemingly haphazardly dropped the severed door to the ground and left it behind like collateral damage.

* * *

For each drone they lost at their disposal, Treece could feel his blood boil, and the likelihood of him inadvertently punching the driver in the car he was sitting in was getting increasingly plausible. He cursed the volume of a public speech as he watched Brock and that _fucking_ doctor take down each of his assets, with seemingly some level of control over those parasites they were trying to recapture.

**_FUCK!_**

He proceeded to send more after them, maneuvering the devices so that they would successfully render their targets incapacitated without getting close enough to get demolished by whatever the fuck March was doing. Those appendages that developed from her back reminded him of the kind you would see in Sci-Fi movies. They were considerably sharp and could slice through his drones like chunks of meat. Still, he could tell from her expression alone that she had no real power over them; it was all that bug's doing, and whatever kept them both alive would suffice. They could only reach a certain length before they were forced to withdraw, either because the substance could not reach it or it was physically incapacitated by the capabilities of its host.

Still, Treece wasn't going to look the gift horse in the mouth, so he immediately took this into consideration as he sent a number of new drones at them, making sure that they kept their distance this time.

As he suspected, the doctor took note of this, as her attempts of keeping the dangers at bay were proved futile. Not to mention that – being the _benevolent _individual she was – she couldn't risk potentially hitting anyone else in the process, be it pedestrians or other cars. That was a rule Treece was not above breaking to the extent where he was willing to crush it to debris.

Without a moment's reluctance, he aimed one of the drones at the car closest to them, sending the entire vehicle into a state of destruction. Flames went everywhere and the car doubled over like a toy, and it threatened to not only affect his targets, but also other people that were close enough. He could care less about it, however, and continued sending the devices forward.

March managed to look past the destruction and straight at him, and Treece could not help but smirk at her as their eye met from the distance. He could tell that his presence alarmed her as much as it filled her with _fear_, like prey caught in the sight of a predator that was ready to pounce. He recalled that feeling from his time in the war, and he absolutely loved it. He loved seeing that stone-cold woman exhibit human traits that filled even him with pleasure.

But then, something changed. Even from a distance, he could tell that her eyes just momentarily shifted colors. They turned completely _white_, like a blind person standing amidst the darkness. and even though the instance was so short that it was barely noticeable, Treece still took note of how cold he felt and how chills ran up and down his skin. Even when the woman's eyes reverted back to normal not even a second later, he could not shake off the tight knot that had developed in his stomach.

Determined not to let this deter him, Treece quickly maneuvered the last drone into the wall and watched in morbid delight as blue flames caused by the explosion seemingly consumed them both. While he doubted this would completely annihilate them, perhaps it would be enough to at least incapacitate them long enough to finally snatch them on the spot.

Yet his joy was swiftly put to rest as he watched the bike, along with its riders, make it out of the flames without a single scratch. Not even a burn was left lingering on either of their clothing, to which Treece could not keep his frustrations contained. He slammed his fist against the dashboard and gnashed his teeth together, as though with the intent of grinding them to dust.

"_Treece, do not let him get away!"_

The fuck he wouldn't.

* * *

"_Alice Gleason, reporting live," _said the woman on the television as she readjusted her hair just in time for the cameraman to focus on her. It was evident by the fancy products and clothes she adored that she was not someone who took her own appearance lightly. However, it would have been much more beautiful on her corpse than anything, he couldn't deny that fact. She would also become much more useful as dead than alive.

"_It would seem that a series of car accidents had been reported on the east side of San Francisco, just outside of the Financial District. Witnesses have reported seeing a vast number of cars – possibly police-affiliated – chasing two individuals on a motorcycle throughout the city, followed by countless explosions on the main roads that have already claimed the lives of at least three people."_

Only _three_? How boring. He'd been stuck in Sacramento for little over a week now, and there were already eleven people who could vouch for his competence in terms of _skill._ Or, technically, they couldn't vouch for shit now that they were dead, but it was the thought that counted.

As he drew his finger over the wall with red, leaving behind his signature one last time, he listened with a moderate degree of interest at the topic that was discussed on the news. It would seem that the city of San Francisco had been rather occupied in the last couple of days, and it was almost a shame that he hadn't gotten there sooner.

_Oh well,_ he thought nonchalantly as he walked over the red-stained floors, stepping over the mangled corpse of the apartment's previous tenant. The man – forty or so in terms of age, with a rather nasty balding point at the top of his head - hadn't really put up much of a fight, and the empty bottles of vodka that were strewn on the floor might have contributed to that.

Nevertheless, he had enjoyed the experience quite thoroughly, as he did every time he drove a knife or any kind of sharp object through a person's neck; or stomach; or chest. He knew over a thousand ways to kill someone, and he loved each and every one of them. This was just a taste, and while tedious to a certain length, it nonetheless provided him with enough pleasure to last him for a short while. After all, he knew it would be some time before he would be able to do it again, but not long enough to make him sweat from withdrawal symptoms.

Because, outside of the apartment door, he could vaguely make out the sounds of sirens, as well as heavily-armed police officers and possible SWAT members making their way towards the place at a rather quick pace.

He hummed pleasantly to himself as he heard them stomp just outside of the doorframe, shouting their demands regarding his surrender and _yadayadayada. _He had heard it all before, and this would doubtfully be the last time he'd get to hear it, and it had become rather irritating after some time, so he'd rather continue listening to the TV during his last moments of freedom (it wouldn't be long before he regained it).

" – _While the situation surrounding these incidents have yet to be explained, if one thing's certain, it's that this evening in San Francisco might develop into something much more sinister,"_

"It sure will, sweetie," he murmured and pulled a piece of his red hair behind his ear. "But fortunately for you, San Francisco is _just_ the place I'm headed,"

The door broke in, and he could only grin as the officers surrounded him. His signature was complete, after all. That alone indicated that it had been a good day, and now he would get a free ride to the place he had been looking to visit for some time now.

* * *

While Evelyn was not one to bask in positivity on every whim, even she had to admit to herself that things were looking up for them. The distance between them and the LF was growing, and Venom's interference against their attacks proved most effective. Lasher's attacks, while equally effective, could only do so much at a distance. For whatever reason, it was reluctant to continue after what seemed like a short while, and the cold feeling inside of her chest gradually sunk to oblivion until she could feel absolutely nothing at all left of their presence. While she couldn't completely admit that she found its presence soothing in terms of relaxation of any kind, she wouldn't be quick to dismiss it in circumstances such as these. Not anymore.

_If she died, they would die as well._

Judging by the view of the ocean a little further up ahead, she could tell that they were reaching the edge of the island, and traffic was decreasing. The sound of the cars behind them crashing into each other as a result of Venom's recent intrusion caused a sense of relief to wash over her. _They could make it, just a little further._

Eddie looked over at the wreckage behind him, clearly amazed at the raw power the symbiote exhibited. It would seem that he had gotten a sense of fondness over the symbiote, which went beyond what she had expected from him. Whereas her own sentiments towards _Lasher_ varied still, he seemed to find his connection to Venom beneficial and … even pleasant. She decided not to address it, and took a deep breath as she allowed her head to relax slightly against his back. _Warm. _

"Whoa!" he shouted. "That was actually kind of cool, I'm not going to li– "

_**BANG!**_


End file.
